


Lost Souls

by Mysdrym



Series: Impervious [11]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Betrayal, Death Knights - Freeform, Farstriders, Friendship, Heartbreak, High Elves, Priests, Rated For Violence, Scourge, Thoughts of Suicide, amani trolls, and dismemberment, and torture in later chapters, tauren - Freeform, there's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysdrym/pseuds/Mysdrym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Scourge moves to consume Quel'Thalas, adventurers from different walks of life and cultures find themselves thrown together and their fates become entwined in ways they never could have dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Twisted Fate and a prequel of sorts detailing some of the events leading to Impervious. I wrote this some time ago, but received feedback that it was hard to follow the different characters here. In light of that, I’m going back and spending more time with each to help bring them out more. Feedback on this front would be wonderful. I also appreciate any input anyone has.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

 

Amaeria Lightswill would have given most anything for a light blessed bath. Her long, white-blonde hair had been put up in intricate braids before she’d headed out on this patrol with some of Silvermoon’s rangers, and now she was dreading when they returned to the outpost they were operating out of for the next week and a half. Getting these tangles out would be far worse than trudging through mud and underbrush.

When she’d signed up for this mission, it had been so that she could smooth things over with her childhood friend, Jaserisk Dawningblade. They’d grown up together, always getting into trouble with her other best friend, Prynn. Their parents had called the three of them the terrors of Silvermoon, and they had lived up to that title, always finding their way into mischief and scraped knees.

That had stopped when both Amaeria and Prynn had shown an aptitude for using the Light. The priesthood had welcomed their new members into the fold, and Jaserisk had been left behind.

Behind but not forgotten.

They’d still managed to have adventures whenever they could, some more risky than before since both Prynn and Amaeria were becoming capable healers.

Jaserisk hadn’t had much of any connection with magic, and the Farstriders had recruited him, impressed with how good he was at scaling walls and sneaking around. He’d been quite proud, and both Amaeria and Prynn had been there when he’d graduated the academy to become a full-fledged ranger, clapping for him even as he’d bound up to them, pride swelling his chest as he’d hugged each of them.

But then something had shifted. Jaserisk had, well… he’d fallen in love with her.

And Amaeria hadn’t found out about it until after _she’d_ fallen in love with Gryst’lyn Emberdawn, one of Silvermoon’s most notorious bad boys. He wasn’t too bad when she was around, but...

That hardly mattered to Jaserisk.

He hadn’t talked to her since she’d announced their engagement, and it was selfish, but Amaeria didn’t want to lose one of her oldest friends just because she was getting married to someone else.

Determined to find a way to reach out to him, to at least try to come to an understanding, Amaeria had signed up for this patrol. She’d rather thought it would just be a lot of riding through the woods, checking rune stones and the like.

Instead, they’d headed to one of Silvermoon’s furthest outposts and set up there, going out for days at a time to scout the woods. The ground was so cluttered that they'd left their mounts behind so that they would be able to move faster. They were in the south western edges of their territories, so it wasn’t likely that they’d have to deal with any Amani trolls—the chance that it _could_ happen was still a little nerve wracking—and the quel’dorei were on friendly terms with the humans to the south, so it didn’t seem like this adventure would be that dangerous.

It was still a lot of hard traveling, though. It was easily more than Amaeria had ever done in her life—the priesthood suddenly seemed so detached from the places it was needed most, with so many priests spending their days safely in the city walls instead of out and about where they could do the most good.

The Farstriders she was patrolling with could tell. While she was doing her best to keep up, her original cheeriness and determination had somewhat diminished the further they went, and now she was rather quiet, expending most of her energy just to keep up with everyone.

Jaserisk was leading their group, though he hadn’t said anything to her yet. She’d tried to talk to him a few times, but he’d just shushed her. Others had pointed out they needed to be listening, on the off chance wild animals came too close.

When she’d made this plan, her blind optimism had ignored one very key detail that she should have taken into consideration before attempting anything: Jaserisk was one of the most hardheaded elves she knew. If he never wanted to speak to her again, he very well wouldn’t.

Her ears drooped a little at that prospect, though she kept her gaze on the forest floor, cursing herself for having worn robes instead of something more travel-appropriate.

Even as she silently lamented her foolish plan and wondered how painful the rest of their time out here was going to be, a pair of boots came into her view, standing beside a bubbling creek that she hadn’t even noticed.

She was indeed not meant for anything other than city life.

As her gaze swept up the figure waiting for her, she held her breath when she saw it was Jaserisk. He rolled his eyes, holding his hand out to her, gaze focused on the others who’d already crossed the water.

They must have hated having her with them.

Suddenly all the adventures she’d had that had assured her she would be able to do this fell into focus as exactly what they were: children’s games.

She took his hand hesitantly. Feeling the way his leather glove curled around her somehow made her lonelier as he started across the creek, making sure that she didn’t slip into the water. It was warm enough that such an escapade would result in little aside from embarrassment and mild discomfort as her clothes dried, but it was still kind of him to make sure it didn’t happen.

Amaeria smiled a little to herself. Jaserisk had never had a cruel bone in his body. She’d always felt safe around him. To find out that he’d fallen for her and hadn’t said anything… had he mistaken her friendliness for mutual feelings? Prynn treated him the same way that Amaeria did, from what Amaeria could remember.

He dropped her hand once they’d cleared the creek, signaling for his subordinates to keep going. Even as Amaeria struggled to come up with something to say, he started toward the head of the group. A thank you died on her lips as she watched him walk away.

It hurt that he could be so cold to her, though she supposed he must be hurting, too, with the way things had ended up.

If they could just talk…

That likely wasn’t going to happen.

Amaeria wanted to go home. This had clearly been a mistake. Perhaps time would heal the rift that had formed between them. Time and space.

She hadn’t bothered to give him either.

How horribly self-centered of her.

What kind of priest couldn’t be more understanding of other people’s feelings and—

Amaeria squeaked as she felt Jaserisk's arm wrap around her waist and pull her to a stop. He put his other hand over her mouth for a moment before taking it back and putting a finger to his lips. The others had stopped, too.

Her ears perked up, and she strained to listen to what the Farstriders around her were so well trained to hear. While all she could make out were birds and wind whispering through leaves, Jaserisk's grip on her tightened, and he pulled her closer, frowning as one of his ears twitched.

He motioned to the others silently with a hand, and the group spread out and began to creep through the trees, toward some unknown threat. Amaeria looked up at Jaserisk, who in turn motioned to the side with his head and eased his grip on her, though he didn’t completely let her go.

While on her own she knew she would have bumbled her way through the woods, alerting whatever it was that they were on their way, somehow Jaserisk was able to keep her footfalls as quiet as his own, and they carefully made their way after the others.

Amaeria didn't get a clear look at what they’d found at first. Rather, she was overwhelmed by the smell of rotting meat and instantly had to fight back her gag reflex, jerking her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth. Even as she willed her robe to be a better air filter, she heard a cry from somewhere to her right, and both she and Jaserisk darted toward the sound.

Before anything really registered in her mind, Amaeria was tossing heals and bubbles to everyone in range. It wasn't until the creature attacking one of her fellow patrollers found that its claws were useless against the strange aura surrounding the elf that she saw it.

As it saw her.

It looked like it had been a man once upon a time, though she doubted anyone could call it that anymore. Its shape was contorted, its head tilted at an odd angle as it turned a milky gaze toward her, mouth hanging open and bits of flesh, blood, and cloth poking out from its broken teeth.

The creature seemed to understand that she was the one who had thwarted it, and she was surprised by how fast something in such a late state of decay could move. She barely had time to throw a bubble around herself before she was on the ground, terror stricken as the corpse clawed ineffectually at her. While Amaeria was a decently skilled priest, she knew that holy shields wouldn't last indefinitely. She braced herself for the pain the thing's claws would soon bring.

However, before it could make it past her magic and to her flesh, arrows and blades flew into it. The monster let out a slow, gurgling hiss before slumping down on top of her.

Amaeria wasn't sure how she managed to keep breathing through her fear, but her body jerkily took in air as she stared up at the creature. It really was a corpse. How then, was it moving so...well? Never mind that; how was it moving at all?

Magic obviously, but who would do such a thing?

She didn't realize she was crying until she heard Jaserisk murmur that it was alright and felt his arms around her, his chin resting on top of her head. The creature...it had been shoved away, but it was still close enough that she could touch it if she wanted to.

A sense of humiliation washed over her. This was her first patrol, and she was in tears after their first skirmish? Amaeria quickly wiped at her eyes, though she grimaced when she saw that streaks of coagulated blood ran across her clothes.

She shook her head when Jaserisk offered to carry her for a little while and rose shakily to her feet. One of the other Farstrider's ruffled her hair—pulling loose a few locks of her hair so that they tumbled messily around her face—and laughed as she immediately tried to pat it back into place. There were leaves and dirt caught in her hair, and the Farstriders seemed amused that she would be annoyed by anything making her rat's nest worse.

"You didn't do half bad, priest," the Farstrider offered, grinning. "We're all still here, aren't we?"

Amaeria looked back at the creature on the ground and nodded meekly. Even as a few others offered her gentle praise or consolation that they'd never seen such a creature themselves, she stilled. She barely noticed Jaserisk's hand against her cheek.

"It's...not dead."

As one of them asked her to repeat herself, she shrieked her words again, stumbling into Jaserisk as the corpse rose back to its feet and made another lunge toward her. While she maintained enough of her senses to keep up her shields and her heals, for the duration of the fight she felt as though she would throw up. Even when limbs were hacked off, it kept coming at them. It no longer focused strictly on her, however, instead desperately clawing at whatever was nearest, trying to eliminate even one of its attackers. She felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. Was there still some semblance of whoever it had been trapped within that rotting flesh?

Finally, one of the Farstriders had the sense to light the tip of his arrow and set the creature aflame. As it burned away to nothing, still shambling toward them and leaving small fires in its wake, it let out a hellish, other-worldly wail before finally succumbing to death.

Even as the elves went about extinguishing the flames it had left, several more wails responded from somewhere further south.

Amaeria was in Jaserisk's arms in a breath, and the whole lot of the Farstriders retreated, intent on reaching their outpost before anymore of the corpses could reach them.

~"~

She couldn't out run them. Amaeria looked over her shoulder again to see that dozens of the ghouls were pouring out of the woods, their sights set on her as their rotting limbs jerked unnaturally, forcing themselves to seek her out. She could hear the cries of the Farstriders as they fell to the creatures, and she was overtaken with guilt. How could she have left them like that? How could she have let them die when she was charged with their lives?

Even as she thought to go back and save whoever she could, she felt decaying teeth bite down into her shoulder, jagged, broken teeth digging into her skin, tearing it apart.

She screamed.

Amaeria's eyes snapped open, and she bit back a hiccupped sob as she realized it had only been a nightmare. On their way back to their camp, they had stumbled into several more corpses. The creatures had been dealt with fairly easily, since they'd discovered fire to be the monsters’ weakness.

Upon reaching the outpost, they’d sent a messenger to Silvermoon to report what they’d found, with the assurance that more updates would come if they found out that there were more walking corpses than they’d anticipated.

Jaserisk and his fellow Farstriders had decided to rest up for the night and then see if they could find the source of the risen bodies in the morrow. He’d told Amaeria she didn’t need to come with them, but how could she let them go against something so… relentless? Especially when she was their healer.

The guilt from her dream surged back up.

If things got too dangerous, she wouldn’t really abandon them, would she?

She shook her head, trying to reassure herself. It had been terrifying, but she was stronger than that.

Pale and trembling as she had been, Amaeria had said she could go back with them. Though Jaserisk had clearly been skeptical, seeing as she’d looked ready to pass out even with the threat miles behind them, the Farstriders in her patrol were quick to remind him that she'd done a damn good job healing them, despite her fear.

It was a small consolation.

As she curled up into a small ball on her cot, she felt a hand on her arm and looked up to see Jaserisk leaning over her. His brow was pinched together, worry tugging his lips into a frown. She felt so stupid. Of all of them, she was the only one to be this rattled by their little ordeal. They had to be thinking that she was even more inept than she’d originally appeared to be, even if they had come to her defense earlier. He forced a smile as she sat up and ran her fingers through her hair—she’d brushed it out before going to bed. The actions had been soothing and the gentle tug of her hair as the brush moved through it had helped dull the horrors of the day, if only a little.

"It'll be alright," he ran his hand down her back and pulled her toward him. She felt him lean his cheek into her hair, and a fleeting sense of relief washed through her, though it was quickly replaced with something she couldn’t quite place as her lover’s—Gryst'lyn's face flickered into her thoughts.

She shifted on her bed, away from Jaserisk and smiled faintly, brushing her hair back over her shoulders. "I know...I don't know why it's got me so upset," she trailed off as she tried to think of something witty or confident to say. However, all she could do was picture those monsters' faces. They had been people, once. Were they still?

"When I saw that first one, I about had a heart attack," Jaserisk offered, drumming his fingers against his ankle once. He’d seated himself half on her bed. His long, blonde hair fell around his shoulders, half dried from a recent bath. He smelled like crisp leaves, and Amaeria had to fight the impulse to admit to herself that it was nice.

She brought her knees up to her chest and picked at the hem of her robe. "Do you think...do you think anyone's missing them? That we should have tried to find out who they were?" She frowned as he laughed. She hadn't remembered it being such a pleasant sound. As she realized that the tips of her ears were turning red, she looked away from him, hoping desperately that he wouldn't notice in the dim light.

"I know...I'm not your ideal man," Jaserisk whispered.

Amaeria jerked her head up and looked back at him, eyes wide. He was staring down at his hands. However, even as she floundered for a way to comfort him without misleading him, or just change the subject all together—perhaps back to what she'd been pondering about the ghouls—he shrugged and looked at her wistfully.

"I love you, Amae—"

"Please don't," she whispered, interrupting him as she looked back down at her feet. "I already promised myself to someone else."

"That worthless prick of a noble?" She blinked and looked back at him to see he was leaning toward her. He traced her jaw line with his thumb and leaned forward to let his lips trail along her neck. "He’s just going to break your heart." He pulled back and caught her gaze for a long, quiet moment before gently drawing her to him and kissing her. He rested his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath. Everything was happening so suddenly. He took her hand and held it against his chest. "I love you. I love how innocent you are, that you think of the monsters we fought as the people they were... I love the way you try to be brave, even when you're so terrified. I want to protect you. To hold you, to have you, in every way a man can..." He grinned and kissed her again. "And I love that such thoughts make you blush."

Even as her mind drew a huge blank, and she couldn't think of words to piece together a basic sentence, he ran one of his hands along her leg, pulling her robe up with it and letting his palm trail over her bare skin. "Give me a chance...?"

He had such a pleading, hopeful look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally breaking from her confusion and catching his hand. "I'm sorry, but I'm already in love with someone else."

Jaserisk was quiet for a long, agonizing moment before a half smile flickered across his lips. "I’ve known since that first day that we met that we were meant to be together. I can be patient."

With that, he rose to his feet and left the room.

Amaeria felt all the blood drain from her face as she stared after him.

This had been a horrendously bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, this is gonna get pretty bloody. Just thought I'd give a heads up.

Amaeria bit her lip, fingers trembling as she tried not to tear the letter she’d received as she opened its envelope. She'd spent the last week trekking through the wilderness with the patrol. They were seeing more and more undead, but they were never able to find the source. They'd made it as far as the nearest human village, only to find it broken and empty, with corpses shambling through the streets. While they'd thought this might have been the epicenter of whatever was going on, they hadn't been able to confirm anything and had hurried home to inform their leaders of what was going on. Perhaps some mages in Silvermoon could contact Dalaran and find out if the creatures had reached them yet.

On their way back, they'd been attacked by a band of surprisingly organized undead. While none of them seemed to truly have minds of their own, they attacked with unusual precision. It had been taxing to keep everyone alive, but she'd managed it. Jaserisk had not come with them, to her relief, and the others were starting to view her as less of an adorable little city priest the more they traveled together.

After they'd been victorious, as a few of the Farstriders offered each other praise for their kills and one even ruffled her hair affectionately, she had looked out into the woods and could have sworn she saw a human man standing in the shadows, watching them. As she narrowed her eyes to get a better view, she wondered if he might be an elf despite his broader, more muscular build, as his eyes were clearly glowing blue. It was a colder blue than she was used to, and sent shivers through her.

Even as she'd tried to get a better view of him, one of her companions had called her name and caught her attention. When she'd looked back, the woods were empty.

However, mysterious figures in the wood and undead were of little importance at the moment. Her letter was from her fiancé, Gryst'lyn. With everything going as it was, she half expected it to be word that he’d decided against the wedding, having finally had some time apart to think it over.

Their romance thus far _had_ been somewhat of a whirlwind, after all.

However, his elegantly scrawled words were not a dismissal, but a beast of quite a different nature. He had a few ideas for their wedding night, and had gone into great detail with the different things he was interesting in doing with her, assuming she didn’t think the Light would cast her aside forever for performing such acts.

He clearly didn’t understand that the Light had no problem with what married couples might do behind closed doors, so long as it both parties were consenting.

Though a few of these ideas did involve a park bench.

Her ears, cheeks, and neck were crimson just from reading half of the letter—he’d paused in his musings to ask if she was blushing yet, which had made her want to reach out and pinch him. Realizing he was miles away just made her miss him more.

Still, it had brought a much needed smile to her lips.

It wouldn’t be much longer now. In a little under a week she’d be heading back to Silvermoon, back to Gryst’lyn.

Amaeria held the note to her heart and closed her eyes, imagining the look on her lover's face whenever next they would meet. Their wedding was to be a week after she got back and just the thought of having her time taken up with inspecting flower arrangements and finishing last minute details for their union warmed her core. Soon all of this would be behind her, like a bad dream.

Though…she would have to tell him that she’d kissed Jaserisk. She hadn’t really wanted to, but it had still happened, and she didn’t want there to be secrets in their relationship. Hopefully Gryst’lyn would understand.

If he didn’t…

She looked back down at his letter, at the things he’d said, his descriptions of how he wanted to touch her, drive her crazy.

He wouldn’t hold it against her, surely.

She somehow managed to finish the letter, though she felt a little lightheaded afterward, a bit too embarrassed from the fact that he’d been able to put such thoughts to paper and send them to her. By the Light, what if someone else had caught a glimpse of this?

The mere thought of someone else perusing what he’d written had the blush that had finally started to die down flood back.

After taking in a few deep breaths, and trying not to think too hard on what he’d written, she started her own—considerably milder letter—to send back.

~"~

That night, during the first pleasant dreams she'd had since she got there, she was shaken awake. Even as she grumpily tried to blink the sleep from her eyes, the Farstrider who'd come for her jerked her out of bed by the arm and began dragging her down the hall. She stumbled over her nightgown to keep up, ears pricking at the sounds that had haunted her nightmares of late. The sounds of fighting and the wails of the undead.

As they entered the courtyard of their base, the Farstrider had to release her to cut down a ghoul that lunged at them. In a breath, Amaeria was casting heals and trying desperately to keep track of everyone. Between spells, she called out to her companions, trying to locate them in the chaos to see who needed healing more so than others.

The man who had woken her stayed close, keeping the monsters that realized she was the one restoring their prey from harming her. During lulls where she was safe, he proved to be a damn good shot, too, and slowly the rest of the Farstriders rallied back to them.

The battle itself seemed to occur outside the realm of time for Amaeria, for she focused so completely on keeping the others up that her own fatigue vanished, and she overcame her bodily restraints for the duration of their fight.

Just as it looked like their fight was won, a man appeared in the distance. She felt as though ice had wrapped around her throat the second she saw him. Her concentration shattered. Even as the feeling subsided, and she looked out to where the man was standing, he pointed a long, wicked looking sword toward her.

Somehow she just knew.

He was there for _her_.

She shuddered, pushing the notion away as a frantic cry forced her attention back to the task at hand. She would be alright. She would take care of the Farstriders, and they would take care of her.

Despite the fear that punctuated her healing with the thought that any second she would look out and see that strange man working his way through the courtyard toward her, it never happened. Instead of joining the fray, he merely disappeared at some point—even so, her gaze kept snapping back to where she’d seen him and scanning to see if he had come closer.

Even as another heal left her lips, Amaeria was abruptly overcome by exhaustion, as though some spell had been cast upon her. Her world spun, and darkness closed in.

~"~

As Amaeria's eyes fluttered open, she heard a few quick, worried remarks and couldn't help but wonder what was going on. Had something bad happened?

Before she could ask, memories of the undead attack flurried into her mind. She jolted upright, though one of the Farstriders held her shoulder to keep her from moving too quickly. Blinking, Amaeria looked around to see that she couldn't have been unconscious for more than a few minutes.

Several of the elves were dragging what was left of their enemies toward a large, foul smelling bonfire, and a few were standing near the gates to the outpost, keeping their eyes on the woods for signs of another attack. About six of them stood and sat around her. They were mostly from her patrol, and seemed relieved to see that she was well, despite some initial skepticism. One teased her that she looked like she'd seen death himself, only to pause as the color drained from Amaeria's face.

She recounted the man she'd seen. Two others confirmed that they'd seen him too, though they’d lost sight of him as the attack had started to die down.

~"~

Even as the other Farstriders promised to keep a look out for the man in question, Jaserisk slipped away from them to walk the perimeter of the base. He wanted to make sure that the walls were secure in case there _was_ another attack. And he wanted to make sure that there wasn't some other group of ghouls coming from a side, perhaps late to the original fray.

As he walked, ever peering out into the eerie shadows the trees cast, a slight movement caught his attention. He knew better than to go into the woods alone, especially seeing as they had no idea how many more undead might be waiting, just out of sight.

He knew better, but he couldn't go back and see Amaeria. He'd headed to her room to try to persuade her again when he'd seen her reading that damned letter. He'd waited until she had gone down to dinner to read it himself, and it had left a bitter pit in his stomach.

Part of him kept reiterating that anyone would have blushed reading that garbage, but another part of him couldn’t help but note how happy she’d been as she read it. It hadn’t just been indecent smut to her, it had been promises of a life of love and happiness.

He’d never stood a chance against Gryst’lyn, had he?

If he’d spoken up sooner, maybe things could have been different. If he’d pushed earlier, before she could get ensnared in that bastard’s life.

But he’d always been a coward when it came to her. He’d always feared that telling her how he felt would make her smiles falter. He’d always been certain that _that_ would kill him.

It turns out it hadn’t, though it had left a hollowness in his chest.

She wanted to be friends, but…how could he? Even if he could get over this, learn to think of her like he did Prynn, there would always be what he’d done between them. He’d kissed her, knowing damned well she wasn’t his to claim.

This patrol was turning into such a mess—shambling corpses aside.

Not that they were shambling as much in the more recent attacks. They were getting more and more aggressive, more and more skilled. It was almost like something was controlling them.

Jaserisk crept into the woods, ears perked and straining for any sounds of unnatural movement. A few yards into the trees, he paused when he saw a horse standing idly near a stream that wound its way near the outpost. The beast didn't seem interested in drinking. The creature was decorated with dark armor, skulls etched into it. Even as he frowned and took a step back, he felt his heel bump into something and whirled around to see a human man with glowing blue eyes standing just behind him.

The man's face held an amused light, though that hardly registered with Jaserisk. Rather, what he noticed were the rotting lips, the dark, skull themed armor, and the calculating, intelligent air around him. As the Farstrider tried to duck out of the man's reach, the human easily reached out and caught him by the shoulder.

He laughed lightly, though strange undertones went with the sound. They grated on Jaserisk's ears, and the man seemed pleased when he noticed this. "You seem like a good man, loyal to your fellow Farstriders. Perhaps we can be of help to one another. I'd like to talk to you about that pretty little healer of yours."

~”~

Tinker Goodwrench pouted her lower lip as she eyed the sign she’d just finished painting, the candlelight catching her light pink hair and making it glimmer in the darkness. It was her first official order, and she was going to make sure it was the best, most amazing thing any of these humans had ever seen.

In no time, people from all across Lordaeron would be talking about the amazing Tinker and her signs that simply brought the essence of their wares to life.

She’d put some springs and cogs to work to make it look like the herbalist’s new sign had flowers blooming and closing on it, and she was pretty darn proud of how it had turned out so far. She hadn’t had a single set back as of yet.

She might ought to add another layer of paint, just to make it more vibrant. Though… she didn’t want to make it too gaudy looking. There was a fine line between art and overly done trash, and it was a line she walked every day.

This sign, though? It was a masterpiece. Long after she was gone, people would be talking about the gnome who came to the north and made their cities beautiful.

So engrossed was she in her daydreams of grandeur that it took her over a minute to hear the incessant, desperate banging on her workshop’s door.

“P-please let me in!” A man’s voice called out, frantic. “There’s t-too many! I c-can’t fend them off mys-self!”

Bandits?

Tinker’s brown eyes widened as she considered it, paling a little.

It couldn’t be bandits. She wouldn’t let them steal her sign! It was the beginning of her life’s work! The piece to make all the others fall into place!

It wasn’t until she’d opened the door and the human man had come tumbling into her workshop that she considered he might be a bandit, too, sent to bring her guard down.

Even as she panicked, wondering if she should tell him to get out, he whirled around, slamming the door shut and then dragging an entire table over to block it.

Tinker’s eyes widened further, and she cried out as the jostling of the furniture nearly toppled her sign from where it rested on top of her worktable. “Watch out!”

The man turned toward her, eyes wild as he knelt so that he was closer to her. “Is th-th-there a cellar?” Even as he spoke, he shook his head. “N-no. No cellars, I-I th-think they can dig.” His gaze was darting around the room, terror barely letting him speak coherently. “What ab-bout an attic? I d-don’t think th-they can climb.” He stared at her, large hands engulfing her tiny shoulders, gripping her a bit too hard.

When she yelped, he jerked his hands back. They trembled noticeably, and as she stared at him, still dumbfounded, she realized that she could see blood splashed across his armor—it smelled horribly, like it was rotten. Half a sword hung off his belt, fracture lines running up what was left of the blade, and she thought she could see a broken shield resting against his back.

“I, uh, got an attic for extra space, yeah,” Tinker finally managed. She darted over to one side of the room and tugged on a string. A ladder began to unfurl from the overhead loft—it was another creation she was rather proud of. Truly, technology was the way of the future.

When it was just barely low enough for him to grip, the man grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder—his pauldrons hurt Tinker’s stomach, and she cried out as she thudded against them—and dragged himself up the still descending ladder.

Tinker flailed desperately, trying and failing to understand what the man was so panicked about. “Go easy! You’ll break it!”

She could hear the gears groaning. The locks weren’t in place yet, and the ladder was going to cave out. Even as she tried again to tell him to be careful, she heard another sound.

A strange, eerie, unearthly wail.

Something banged against her door.

The man cringed, hauling himself and Tinker up onto the upper floor. As soon as they were up, he set her aside and then looked at the ladder. “H-how do-do we pull it up? I-I-I don’t want to r-risk being wrong about th-the climbing thing.”

“What are you even talking about?” Tinker cried out, throwing her hands out to her sides. “You’ve done nothing but rant and rave like a madman since you showed up! I don’t even know who you are!”

“S-Shawn.” He was still studying the ladder. “Shawn Darrow. I-I-I’m sorry, I… I just l-lost my entire company to-to those th-things…those…mon-sters.”

Tinker frowned. “There aren’t any monsters around here.” Another wail sounded from outside, as though to counter her argument before she could begin it. The door banged a few more times. She stared down at it, suddenly wondering what was on the other side. Shivering, she looked back at the man. “No monsters. I should know. I did a very thorough check before I moved here. No trolls, no orcs, no demons. This place is about as boring as you can get. There’s nothing but farms for miles!”

“S-seeing as we’ve be-been running for miles,” Shawn started, and then shook his head. “We thought we-we’d outrun them, and th-then they caught up. T-th-they were just everywhere all of a s-sudden. O-o-our healer, Jess-ssica, fell first and…” His gaze was unfocused as memories bubbled up to haunt him. His face was gaunt, circles bagging under his blue eyes. His blonde hair was matted against his forehead as he sat back.

“You mean there’s actual monsters here?” Tinker whispered, her voice a bit higher than usual.

The banging on her door stopped.

She glanced toward her windows. She’d already closed the shutters for the nice, though she could guess that some of the candlelight could be seen through a few cracks.

“W-would you help me-me get the l-l-ladder up, and I-I-I’ll explain w-what I can?”

“Well, it’s not exactly supposed to come up while I’m already up here,” Tinker replied with a little shrug. She let out a startled cry as Shawn took what was left of his sword and used it to break off the ladder, sending it tumbling to the floor below. “Hey! Do you have any idea how long it took to make that?”

Even as she looked down, pointing toward the ground where the ladder had thudded against her dirt floor, a hand shot up from the ground.

She let out a shriek, though Shawn grabbed her and dragged her away from the ledge. She could hear the sound of dirt giving way and something pulling itself up. The wails that had been outside came from just below them.

Her whole body went stiff, tremors shaking through her.

He’d said he thought something could dig. What was that?

The hand had looked human—five fingers she thought—but it hadn’t been right…

Even as she considered that, the smell of rotting flesh hit her. It hit Shawn at the same time, and they both gagged, jerking their shirts up over their faces to try to block the worst of the smell.

Frantic footsteps and disgustingly incoherent grunting came from down below, as whatever it was moved directly below where they were sitting. She could hear it madly pacing, trying to figure out a way to get up to them.

Despite knowing better, she shifted a little—as quietly as she could—until she could peer through a small hole in one of the boards up there.

Down below was a corpse—literally. It was a walking, shambling corpse, rotted clothes barely covering decayed flesh and exposed bones. Its hair fell around its face in stringy lengths, where it still had hair. Its head was inclined back, its expressionless face staring up, mouth agape as those sickening noises escaped its throat.

She jerked back up into a sitting position, turning toward Shawn, eyes wide. “You said there’s—”

The creature below let out a wail as soon as she spoke.

Shuddering, she tried to talk lower. “There’s more of them?”

“Dozen’s mo-more,” he whispered.

“What if,” Tinker tried to drop her voice even lower, carefully crossing back over to where Shawn still sat and leaning up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “What if we climb out on the roof? Think maybe they’ll go away if they can’t hear us as well?”

He considered it for a moment and then nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself, glancing down toward where they could still hear the sound of pacing and gurgling grunts.

Tinker tiptoed as best she could over to the edge of the slanted roof. She’d installed a sky-window in the ceiling, hoping to get more natural light into her workshop during the day so that she wouldn’t burn through as many candles. It had worked somewhat well, the square of light sitting on where she normally kept her worktable.

At that, she remember her sign and looked back, heart breaking. If she left it…

The creature only seemed to be interested in them, though, so maybe it wouldn’t touch her sign. She could come back for it, once everything calmed down.

Carefully—and as quietly as they could—they eased the sky-window open, and crawled out. Sure enough, Tinker could see figures moving across the yard outside, shambling slowly. However, when they heard Shawn’s boot on the roof, all of their gazes snapped toward them, a stillness falling over the whole scene.

Then one wailed and the others followed suit, turning their attentions toward the building.

Shawn scrambled up further onto the roof, laying carefully down so that nothing below could see him. Tinker followed him up, propping the window up behind them so that they’d be able to get back in easily.

They must have lay up there for hours, listening to the occasional shuffle of feet around the workshop, punctuated with soft wails and inarticulate noises.

And the smell.

Gears and sprockets, but that smell just might kill her without anything else laying a hand on her.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, the sounds died out. They heard the sound of earth getting overturned, of clawing, and then…nothing.

They had to have waited another hour before Tinker finally dared to sit up and peer over the roof. The yard was mostly empty, though a few of the creatures still meandered aimlessly across it.

She took in a slow breath, glancing around and then looked back at Shawn. Whispering as softly as she could, she motioned, “Do you think we should make a run for it?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” he whispered back. “Do-do you have a horse or…?”

“Well, my means of transportation isn’t exactly quiet,” Tinker admitted, thinking to her mechanical beauty sitting a few dozen yards away in her barn. “Think we could make it to the nearest town on foot?”

“I d-don’t—”

Something slammed into Shawn’s forehead as he tried to answer, sending him tumbling backwards, blood spilling down his face from a gash going across his nose and spreading onto both cheeks. He barely made a sound, eyes unfocused and blank as he fell off the edge of the roof.

If he cried out when he landed, Tinker didn’t hear.

She was too focused on the thing that had knocked him down. It was monstrous, its mouth full of fangs that seemed to leave it unable to close its jaws, and a strangely bat-like head and arms, with the lower extremities almost resembling a man’s. As it perched on the edge of the barn, facing her, the wood creaked and splintered under its weight.

Even as she took a few steps back, heart hammering in her chest, something caught Tinker’s shoulders and lifted her off the roof.

As she flailed, looking up to see the same sort of creature carrying her up, she let out a scream.

The air rushed around her, cold and unrelenting.

Still flailing, she happened a glance down and still, feeling all her blood drain out of her face. She was too high up. She could barely make out Shawn’s body where it lay beside her workshop, limbs twisted awkwardly and unmoving.

Then, even as she thought to grab at the creature’s feet that held onto her, it let her go.

She couldn’t even scream as she went crashing back down to the earth.


	3. Chapter 3

Amaeria sat in a small field just west of the Farstrider outpost with Jaserisk, eyeing the elf wearily. He'd said he wanted to talk to her in private, but hadn't wanted to do so where anyone might overhear them. While Amaeria had been quick to protest, saying she was in love with Gryst'lyn, he had merely nodded and said he knew and he understood.

She'd been puzzled as to what else he would want to speak with her about. A sermon, perhaps? But why would such a thing need to be secretive?

Jaserisk kept his gaze toward the tree line in the distance, a frown firmly in place. Amaeria reached out and placed a hand on his. "Perhaps we should go back after all. If there's more undead, we don't want to be far from the others."

Running his fingers through his hair, Jaserisk stared down at the earth. He looked paler than usual. "That's just it. There are more of them. A lot more." He shook his head slowly. "There's a whole army of them headed our way."

Amaeria sat up straighter. "How do you know? Why haven't you said anything? We should be warning the others. We can call for reinforcements—"

Jaserisk squinted at the tree line and drew his sword. "Amaeria, there's not enough elves alive to stop what's coming. Not out here in the middle of nowhere... He showed me what's coming...in my head somehow." He trailed off and looked at her as she tried to understand what he was saying. He ran his fingers down her cheek. "But he'll let us retreat."

As he spoke, Amaeria perked up, seeing the first of several ghouls come creeping out of the woods. They seemed lost for a moment before seeing the two of them sitting out in the open. As their lifeless eyes locked on them, they began to run.

Even as she tried to ask what he meant, Jaserisk took his sword and slammed it through one of her legs and into the earth beneath. Amaeria let out a scream as the blade pierced her flesh.

She clutched at it, unable to heal the wound with the sword still in place. She looked back up at Jaserisk, disbelief making her mind grind to a halt. This didn't make sense. This was wrong. A dream. A painful, agonizing dream.

His eyes were on the ghouls. He took a few steps away from her.

"He'll let us retreat..." Jaserisk shook his head. "But only if he can have you."

Amaeria tried to reach for him and gasped as so simple a movement jostled her leg, amplifying her pain. Her breath came out in short gasps as she looked at his face, pleadingly. "Don't...you can't just leave me here..."

"I'm sorry, Amaeria." For a moment he took a few steps toward her, like he doubted himself, but then his face hardened, and he shook his head. "Why should all of us die when he just wants you? I'm sorry."

Even as she cried for him to help her, he turned and sprinted away from the oncoming monsters.

Amaeria didn't have time to watch him flee. She could hear the wailing of the ghouls getting closer. She turned to see that they were halfway to her, and she struggled to get her mind to think, to understand what was going on. Jaserisk was one of her best friends. He did have a cruel bone in his body.

He was her friend.

He wouldn't—

This wasn't real…

This couldn't be…

The pain throbbed through her, the ghouls' cries getting louder.

Almost mechanically, Amaeria grabbed at the hilt of the sword and tried to pull it out of her leg so that she could run. However, it was angled into her leg in such a way that it made her have to bring her leg up to get a proper hold of the hilt, and the blade was stuck in the ground. All of her efforts only resorted in more pain.

The ghouls seemed to smell her blood, for she heard their wails become more frantic, more excited. As her eyes went back toward the tree line, she baulked.

Two creatures were lumbering toward her, their giant forms barely held together with what looked to be stitching. An extra arm waved a sickle over their heads while their two larger arms lugged bloodied chains and cleavers. Their stomachs were open and intestines hung out, dragging across the earth and leaving discolored streaks on the ground as they went.

Eyes filling with tears, Amaeria gripped the sword more firmly, desperately trying to ignore the pains in her leg as her movements widened her cut. She jerked on it several times, trying to pull her calf free. However, she'd lost too much blood. Knowing the results would end in more pain, she healed herself and cringed as her skin and muscles tried to mend to the metal blocking their proper recovery. She jerked the sword again and again, no longer checking to see how close the creatures getting. She'd know when they were upon her anyway.

However, even as she struggled to get a proper hold of the sword by twisting herself to the side slightly so as to move her leg as little as possible, a plated hand reached down, gripping one of her hands with the sword's hilt, and jerked up.

As the blade came out of her leg, she felt her fingers breaking under the pressure of the glove. It was nothing a simple heal couldn't fix, and as she threw one on herself, she looked up at her savior.

As their gazes met, her blood all but froze.

The man with glowing blue eyes knelt down in front of her and pulled up her robe to examine the thin scar that was left on her leg. Even as she pushed her garment back down, he ran his finger across the mended flesh and then smiled up at her before abruptly digging his fingers into her leg. She cried out in surprise and pain, and he took his other hand and ran it down her chin.

"We are going to have a grand time, you and I." He paused as he noticed a few of his ghouls, which had surrounded them, looking over their shoulders to eye the spires of the Farstrider outpost in the distance. He caught Amaeria by one of her arms and jerked her to her feet, squeezing her arm hard enough that she thought her bone would break. "Leave them be," he paused and smiled when he noticed the look of confusion crossing Amaeria's face. "After all, we have to let them warn the others of what's coming for them."

~"~

Limbs moved when she wanted them to, but Tinker couldn't say that she really felt any of it. There was pain. It was everywhere in her, twisting her senses, making it almost completely unbearable.

But she could still move.

And that was exactly what the voice in her head told her to do.

_Pick up a sword._

She listened, bending down and taking a hold of what might have been a saber for a human. For her, it was a two-hander.

_Kill the unworthy._

There were others chained in the central, lower part of the room, and she turned toward them, obedient to the silent whispers in her head. As she cut down the other person, she felt a sense of relief flood through her body, all the way to her bones.

So there was a respite from this mind-numbing agony.

Even as she sighed—the action seemed oddly harder than it should have been—she heard a laugh and glanced over to her side to see a man in dark armor watching her. He was blonde, with glowing blue eyes, and a nasty, festering gash across his face.

He was familiar.

She stared up at him for a moment before crossing her arms. "Shawn, was it?"

"It was. Is, I suppose," he answered, crossing his arms as well as he watched her. "I was surprised they'd taken you. Didn't figure you for a fighter."

"I'm whatever he wants me to be," she replied, pausing when she noticed some of her hair. It was a dingy, dull pink, and she wasn't sure why, but she had the distinct notion that she'd always been proud that it was… brighter.

It was hard to remember, though. Hard to think past the pain that was already coming back, thrumming through her as though her blood had been replaced with needles.

"Where is this place?"

"Acherus."

"And you…I knew you." She shifted a little. "I can't remember much more than your name, though."

"Don't worry, any important gaps in your memory come back after a day or so of wandering around. If you need to remember more about me, you will," Shawn offered, waiting for her to walk over to him and then walking with her to the instructor. The man seemed disinterested that they were talking with one another, instead directing her to go speak to someone down below.

The voice in her head was quiet for the time being.

As they headed down, she glanced up at him, frowning. That pain in her was growing like a slow crescendo, though as she glanced down she could see discolored bruises across her exposed skin and quite abruptly realized she didn't have a heartbeat.

That was another detail that felt like it should have hurt more. Instead, she felt oddly numb to the concept. Something else, however, did bother her. "If I'm dead, how can I hurt?"

"I know a way to fix that. Come on," Shawn said, picking up his pace a little as he led her across the room.

She glanced back to where she'd slain…who had that been? The pain in her made her mind foggy, and she found she couldn't care about things like names or…others' wellbeing. "I need to hurt someone."

"Yes, you do."

~"~

Crickets chirped lazily in the Mulgore Plains as Shadow Rain healed an injured kodo calf's foot. Despite being a druid, it had still taken him almost all day to get the creature to let him close enough to see what the problem was. It was a good thing, too, as a twist of brambles—easily concealed by the high grasses—would have just re-torn any injuries healed, had he used a more generic spell.

Even as he patted the creature's head, he looked out into the surroundings fields and wondered what to do now. The calf's herd had left it, likely because of a quilboar attack or something of that nature.

For a moment he wondered if perhaps he should have left the poor thing to its fate without intervening, but he couldn't very well just abandon it now.

The natural balance was important, but he'd already intervened.

Perhaps, if he brought it to some of the kodo trainers in Bloodhoof Village, they would be able to raise it and train it. After all, there was no need for unnecessary death.

The wind tussled his dark mane and Shadow rose to his feet, enjoying the light tug of the breeze on his gray fur. He glanced down at the calf, who watched him with doleful eyes, clearly lost and alone. He patted his leg and took a few slow steps forward to make sure the little beast would follow.

It seemed confused a minute before tumbling forward a few paces on clumsy feet.

When it realized that Shadow wouldn't leave without him, Shadow was able to pick up his pace, grinning as the calf loped along beside him, making the ground tremble slightly from its weight. It occasionally threw its head to the side, excited to have someone with it to run and play with.

Though it was hard to coax it across the plank bridge leading to Bloodhoof Village, Shadow managed, though the little beast was quite distraught as soon as it was in the pens with a few other young kodo, only to see that Shadow was leaving it behind.

Even as it cried, pressing against the sturdy fence, peering up at him in horror, arms looped around one of Shadow's. He glanced down to see his mate, Whisper Windsong, leaning into him, a sad smile tugging on her lips.

"Poor baby misses you already."

"I'll visit him regularly," Shadow said, to her, letting his hand slip along her jawline. He looked back at the calf, trying to will his intent into the creature's mind. Older druids could do so easily, but he wasn't sure he was able to get the creature to understand.

Perhaps he could get one of the other druids to come by and help him with that?

They'd probably chastise him for being too much of a caretaker, though. He never could let anything in distress be, though, even if it was the natural order that sometimes life was cruel.

Whisper idly played with a long braid falling down from her honey-colored mane as she watched the calf, head tilting slowly. "If this keeps up, you're going to be dividing your attention between so many creatures that any children we have will never know what their father looks like."

Shadow coughed at that, though he couldn't hold back a grin. "Is that a hint that you wanted to get started on that tonight?"

Whisper's fur bristled in embarrassment a moment before she grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. "Not until we've said our vows. Mother will kill me if I have a youngling before I can tie you down for good."

"Oh, yes. Because as soon as we have sex, I'm going to run off find another wife."

Wagging a finger at him, Whisper straightened up slightly. "That's what mother says. She knows how you menfolk work. Early play means you can skip out before the work begins."

"Your mother is horribly cynical," Shadow argued, giving the calf one last look—trying one last time to convey his intent—and then turning to lead her toward the wyvern master. "I know a great many steers who are quite happy with their families."

"Maybe so…she wouldn't be so paranoid if things didn't keep coming up."

"Last time wasn't my fault," Shadow objected. They should have taken their vows to be with one another forever last month, but mishap after mishap kept pushing back their ceremony. Whisper's mother had begun to whisper into Whisper's ear that it wasn't meant to be. The spirits and ancestors must not approve of their union.

Shadow could almost believe it, not that he wanted to.

It did seem like something came up almost every single time…

"Let's do it now."

Whisper nearly tripped over her own hooves as he stopped, one arm still wrapped around his. "Now?" She glanced around the village. "Mother's not here. Neither is Twist or your parents or—"

Shadow put a finger to her lips and then nuzzled her hair, grinning when she cuddled into him. "Maybe what the ancestors are really mad about is that we've been making such a big deal about it. These unions should be more natural, shouldn't they?"

Whisper tapped one of her hooves against the ground for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough." She looked around the village and then pointed toward one of the tents. "Shall we?"

"I think we shall."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story gets kind of rough from here out, so just a heads up. Expect graphic violence and all that.
> 
> Also, all of the different threads introduced will weave together eventually.

 

Adrias Duskflame sat glaring at the back of the one person he could honestly say he might actually consider dying for: his best friend, Gryst'lyn Emberdawn. The two had been practically joined at the hip since that day, almost nine years ago, when they'd gone after the same elven lass in a tavern. While the woman had turned out to be the bartender's wife and, more importantly, not interested in a sordid affair, the two had been _more_ aghast to find someone who shared their agenda in seeking to bed as many women as possible before they died.

They had considered a rivalry, though it had been dismissed almost as soon as it had entered both their minds. No, their individual goals would have been dashed should they work against one another. Thus, in almost the same breath, they'd formed an odd bond and turned to winning over the ladies together.

This is not to say that they advertised themselves as interested in three ways—not that it never happened—but rather that they acted as each others' wingmen. For years their arrangement had worked ever so nicely, though they had somewhat developed reputations as the two biggest sluts in Silvermoon.

So it was quite easy to see why Adrias had been in a sour mood of late. A little over three months ago he'd been combing his gorgeous black locks and readying to meet Gryst'lyn at their usual bar, when Gryst'lyn had paid him a surprise visit. Even as Adrias had tried to offer him a friendly greeting, Gryst'lyn had informed him that he had found his soulmate.

The thought had been horrifying to the both of them, and Adrias had been sure it was a spell of some kind, especially when he’d learned that it was some ridiculously innocent priestess who had captured his best friend’s heart so.

And it had been true. Some vindictive elven noble, bent on making Gryst’lyn suffer for all the homes he’d wrecked with his philandering ways, had cast a complicated spell on him and the poor priestess, making the two quite smitten with one another.

Adrias had sent a heads up to the high priest, and had assumed the matter dealt with.

Instead, the two had spent some time together free of the spell, and actually, honestly fallen in love.

It was one of the most miserable things to ever happen to Adrias in his life.

To lose his friend to true love—like that was even really a thing.

He’d tried scaring the wench off by siccing a bunch of angry and scorned elves on the path to make her life miserable in order to make Gryst’lyn’s life miserable—a rather large portion of the community wished for both Adrias and Gryst’lyn to suffer horribly, though their apathy toward just about everything made it very hard to do so to them while keeping the backlashes legal.

Still, love had won out.

How was a warlock to keep his best friend sinning with him into the next life when he was so…

Since that day, it was almost painful to be around Gryst'lyn. He was so...adorably in love.

Needless to say, Adrias despised the name Amaeria, though he still somehow managed to plaster a smile on his face as Gryst'lyn talked about how cute it was that she still clung to her innocence or how she tugged on the hem of her sleeve when she was nervous or one of the million other little idiosyncrasies that she did that he was absolutely enthralled by. By the nether, sometimes Adrias felt like he was the one bedding the damned priestess.

Well, not really. That was the one area that Gryst'lyn—surprisingly—wouldn't share with him. There was little doubt in Adrias' mind, this Amaeria woman was Gryst'lyn's. Now and forever.

He'd been so hopeful that it would end and yet it seemed that there was no power in the world that could come between them. Or so Gryst’lyn kept saying. When he wasn’t happily recounting the story of how they’d met or how they’d fallen for one another or…. Adrias knew the stories so well he could recite them whenever Gryst'lyn started.

It made him want to hurl.

Gryst'lyn had been getting one of his shirts repaired by the one of the lovely seamstresses at the store after having to throw himself out a second story window the night before in order to avoid being caught by his latest mistress's husband. As he was bartering with the seamstress to persuade her to fix his shirt before a few other orders, he'd happened to glance across to the other side of the store and had seen a young lady priest picking up a few robes for the newest batch of trainees. Gryst'lyn was so used to getting women out of their clothes that he easily recognized most any dress, robe, or gown upon sight.

The priestess had felt his eyes upon her and had looked over and the second their gazes had met, Gryst'lyn had known that she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

That part had been the spell.

And then, blah, blah, love, blah, wedding, blah, forever, blah.

Adrias paused, drawing out of his brooding when he realized that Gryst’lyn had just asked him a question. It was probably about that stupid wedding. Why was he the one helping pick out flowers and main courses? It should have been that little wench, but she’d had to go off to patch up things with some friend of hers.

Fucking priests and their ridiculous need to make things better.

Gryst'lyn was giving him a questioning look, one hand holding his hair up in a ponytail, the other with a hair tie that wasn’t quite high enough to indicate he’d decided on the hairstyle. Adrias hesitated and then shrugged, mumbling, “Yes.”

It was apparently the right answer, because Gryst’lyn’s grin broadened, and he tied his crimson hair up quickly, only to hesitate and take it back down regardless of Adrias’ apparent advice. He combed his fingers through his hair a couple of times, as though attempting to make it look like he hadn't spent the whole morning harassing his warlock companion about what he thought he should wear.

The little wench was coming home from a patrol, not a war. And even then, did she really require this much effort? She'd already agreed to marry him....

Gryst'lyn gave up on his appearance and turned to Adrias, grin still firmly in place. "I never thought two and a half weeks could take so long. I’ve probably driven you half mad, dealing with all this while she’s away."

Adrias didn't bother to respond. No sense in ruining Gryst'lyn's good mood until he'd properly evaluated whether he was going to make Miss Amaeria disappear or not. He’d met her once and couldn’t say that he cared for her. She was too sweet. He frowned as he heard one of his demons whisper in the back his mind that it wouldn't bring Gryst'lyn back to him if he _did_ do something to her. Damned pets...eavesdropping on his plots.

Just as Gryst'lyn trotted up to Adrias, fiddling with one of his cuffs as he motioned with his head to leave, the door swung open, and both men turned to see Prynn Morningwhisper stalk into the room, lower lip quivering.

She was Amaeria’s best friend and an old lay, who wasn’t particularly fond of either Adrias or Gryst’lyn, but managed to muster enthusiasm whenever she was with Amaeria, if only to keep her happy.

Basically, she was a better version of Adrias.

Not that _that_ was much of a feat.

Even as Adrias started to ask if they were all going to greet the returning priestess as a welcoming party for her valiant efforts in overcoming leaves and bark, Prynn stopped in her tracks, shoulders quivering as a gasp wracked her body. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and a note was crumpled and sticking out of one.

She opened her mouth to speak, and Adrias noticed her eyes were red and puffy, like she’d been crying.

Or trying not to.

Gryst’lyn hopped over to her, that damnable spring in his step that he’d had since his fall into monogamy. “Prynn? What’s wrong?”

The little priestess set her jaw for a moment, brow lowering as she finally managed to unclench one of her hands and brush back her light orange hair. She tried to talk again, but when that didn’t work, she shoved the paper she was holding toward Gryst’lyn.

The tears stinging her eyes began to fall as his eyes scanned the paper.

Silence filled the room.

Seconds ticked by.

Neither of them said a thing.

Finally, Adrias couldn’t take it. He got up from where he’d been reclining, and walked over to where Gryst’lyn stood. As he swung up next to him, he saw the stricken look on Gryst’lyn’s face, a grimace half frozen on his unusually pale features.

His gaze dropped to the note, reading the words with mild curiosity.

_I’m sorry to inform you that Amaeria Lightswill has fallen in battle. Her actions were…_

He didn’t read past the first line.

Even as Prynne broke down into tears, collapsing to the floor, Adrias felt a strange twinge in the back of his mind, like his months of wishing for the little wench to disappear had somehow made it so. He looked back at Gryst'lyn in time to see him stagger a few steps and then reach out and grip the nearest piece of furniture.

Adrias reached out and helped him into a chair before going back to Prynn and scooping her up, taking her to a seat as well, though she simply clung to him, not caring who he was as she sobbed.

As Gryst’lyn let out a ragged, wretched gasp, tears falling freely from his eyes as well, Adrias felt lost.

For the first time in his life, he honestly wished that he could help.

 

~”~

 

In the midst of a small clearing, near the northwestern border of the Amani territories, one of their prouder warriors stood with a spear in hand as the light made the light dusting of green fur on his body shimmer. His war paint marked him as proficient with his spear, a true fighter, and the feathers tied to his arm and dangling from his ear were pristine. His small tusks pointed straight up, practically following his cheek bones, and somehow making his frown look considerably more pronounced.

He ran his fingers over his chin and paced the space between the trees twice more, peering around cautiously, clearly looking for something.

Someone.

Haa’aji Bonespear sat just up in the trees, waiting until his brother, Gen’taji, had turned away and then dropping down as carefully as he could behind him. Even as he attempted to sneak up a step closer, Gen’taji whirled on him, thwacking him hard in the side with the shaft of his spear.

It dropped Haa’aji like a sack of rocks off a bridge, and he clung to his side, gasping in pain.

Eye twitching, Gen'taji pulled his spear back and rested it against his shoulder as he gave a reprimanding look toward the troll now cringing at his feet.

"Dammit, Haa'aji," Gen'taji hissed, kicking at his younger brother.

Despite the pain in his side, Haa'aji rolled out of his reach. A broad grin swept across his features, stretching his war paint and distorting it. His brother always teased him that his markings looked more like he was a lowly jungle troll when he smiled like that, but Haa'aji didn't mind the jibe.

He was smaller than his brother—than most Amani warriors, really. He used this as his main reason for why he ought to be a rogue rather than a warrior, though all such conversations were shot down. Gen'taji was always quick to point out that 'stealthy' as Haa'aji might be, almost everyone could still always tell when he was around.

This moment a case in point.

Worse, his family was starting to receive complaints from the tribe's rogue order, saying that he was trying to spy on their training. Haa’aji figured the rogues were probably more annoyed by his failure to do so successfully than his persistence. After all, if he could train himself, that would more than prove himself and gain himself entry into the order.

He just had to keep at it. After all, it was taking them longer and longer to find him when he was spying.

Haa'aji hopped to his feet as his brother kept an angry gaze on him, sidling up beside him and slinging an arm around Gen'taji's shoulders, though he cursed and drew it back as his brother slapped his spear down on his muscles. Haa'aji rubbed his arm, his smile gone. "Watcha problem be, yeh?"

"Ah came ta tell ya ya shift be extended," Gen'taji paused and looked around again. "Da hell be ya spea?"

"It be around, mon," Haa'aji shrugged.

Gen'taji looked like he wanted to strangle him.

"Ya betta come back wit' it," his snapped before straightening up and looking around. "Dea been a skirmish nea de borda, south a hea, yeh? It gon ta be a while befoa sumbodeh come ta relieve ya."

"Ya nah able ta?" Haa'aji raised his hairless eyebrows and ducked out of reach as his brother tried to hit him again.

"Ah be goin' ta de guards 'n tellin' dem ta stay vigilant, yeh? Dey nah sure if de elves be doin' multiple attacks. So ya see sumtin, ya sound de alarm, yeh?" Gen'taji's frown deepened as he looked around the clearing again. "Ya have ya horn, mon?"

"It be wit' meh spea," Haa'aji shrugged.

"Ah gon ta spit on ya grave when dem elves kill ya," his brother muttered before shaking his head and stalking off to finish his duties.

Haa'aji stared after him for almost a minute, until he could no longer hear the soft crunch of his brother's footsteps against the forest floor. He straightened out of his hunch to inspect the area for any signs that others might be near as well and then slouched back down, his longer, heavier tusks all but demanding it.

In a breath, he was out of the clearing, almost silently gliding through the wood. Not ten yards away he slowed his pace to a saunter. "Hey, wooman. I be back, yeh? So don' be doin' nuttin stupid."

He came to a stop in front of a mildly terrified looking elven woman. His horn dangled against her neck, with the strap used as a gag and his spear wedged just perfectly against a few closely growing trees to keep her pressed against the trunks in a most uncomfortable position. He guessed that the wrinkles around her eyes and lips, along with the silver wisps streaking her fine hair meant that she was an older elf. She attempted to cry out when she saw he was back, but Haa'aji merely frowned, putting a finger to his lips as he reached over and picked up a small scroll that he'd dropped near her feet when he'd gone to see who was checking in on him.

He unfurled the parchment to show the crudely drawn trollish symbols and then pointed at it. "Look hea. Ah got sum questions 'bout dis, yeh? Dere be nah point screamin' a nuttin, 'cause de onleh people's attention ya be catchin' be meh tribe's."

While the woman seemed too panicked to follow his words completely, she managed a meek nod and Haa'aji reached out and jerked free her gag. The woman's arms were pinned by her side, though she tried to reach up and push the horn away from her. When she couldn't reach and seemed upset by it, Haa'aji placed the scroll in her hands before removing it himself.

"Ya be writin' dis?" As he spoke, he made what he thought looked like a writing gesture—he couldn't read or write and had only seen a few elders bother with such things; namely to put up wards or curses against the elves—and then pointed at the woman.

She gave him a disdainful look before whispering, "I speak troll."

"Dat be a terrible accent, mon," Haa'aji couldn't help but grin as she scowled. He pointed at the scroll again. "Ya been de one leavin' dese all ova de place, yeh?" When she nodded, he crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow. "Ya should know, de voodoo onleh be workin' fa de trolls, yeh? Ya elves don' be able ta use it—"

"I'm not trying to use voodoo," the woman snapped, though she jumped as she heard a twig snap a few yards away. Their ears perked up for a moment as they listened for anything coming their way. Haa'aji relaxed before she did.

"Den why ya be leavin' ya spells everehwhea?"

"I'm not—" The elf's curiosity almost made her forget that she was a hostage, and she perked up slightly, though she frowned as she hit against the spear holding her in place and came back to reality. "They're not spells; they're informative documents."

Haa'aji stared at her blankly.

The woman shifted her weight uncomfortably before looking the troll over. "I'll tell you what they say, but I should like to have a proper seat while I do so."

Haa'aji eyed her for a moment, stopping to hold her pale, glowing blue gaze. It was hard, looking at her as she was, to imagine that the elves had really caused the Amani as much grief as they had. The troll tapped a finger against one of his tusks, considering the drawbacks to releasing her. She might try to run, though he could easily overpower her. Unless there were others nearby.

Or if she could use magic.

The little creatures were damned good with the arcane, something Haa'aji had never been able to grasp, and he didn't want her running to any others nearby to get reinforcements.

But if she could use magic…

"Come now," the woman said as though she could read minds—could they read mind? She leaned forward as best she could. "I am a magister. If I wanted to fight you, I would have already set this wood ablaze. That you haven't killed me yet means you're at least curious. Let us talk, one curious mind to another."

"A'ight," Haa'aji shrugged abruptly. He reached out and jerked his spear away from her.

The woman took in a few deep breaths and then spastically batted the wrinkles out of her clothes and frowned helplessly when she saw that the wooden shaft had left smudges of dirt along her shirt. Haa'aji plopped down onto the ground, his legs crossed at the ankles, and stared up at her expectantly.

She looked around for a moment before sighing and resigning herself to sit upon the ground as well, though she tried her best to make sure to avoid any particularly dirty spots, instead opting to perch upon some fallen leaves. Haa'aji tried not to laugh. She looked like she was building herself a nest.

When she was as comfortable as she could be, she tapped the scroll in her hands and looked at him sternly. "I have been trying to reach out to you creatures. To make your lives better."

Haa'aji couldn't say that he thought his life was particularly lacking—aside from rogue training—and told her as much, leaving out his wish to be a creature of stealth, of course. She shook her head. "You don't understand. I want to talk to you about cannibalism."

Haa'aji's eyes glazed over, but the woman waved her hands, almost frantic to keep his attention. "No, please. Hear me out. You've given yourself this long of a pause, yes?"

Cupping his chin with his hands, he leaned forward, clearly bored. "Speak quickleh, den."

"I... well..." The woman didn't seem to know where to begin.

With a sigh, Haa'aji lightly caught hold of his spear and horn and began to rise to his feet. However, the elven woman reached out and grabbed his arm, her nails just barely pinching into one of his biceps. "It can cause diseases."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannibalism actually doesn't cause that many diseases, unless you eat a diseased person, and the elven woman was well aware of this. She was counting on the trolls being less educated, however.


	5. Chapter 5

Haa'aji sauntered into a small hut, barely noticing as both his brother and father greeted him. Since his talk with that elven woman, he'd had a hard time talking to anyone. Was it true? Could cannibalism really make your tusks fall out?

He figured he could deal with the rest of those side effects, like going crazy and such, but when that elf had started talking about the effects it would have on his tusks... Haa'aji was a damned good looking troll and to lose any part of his physical appearance to anything would be a hate crime against the world. At least, that's what he figured.

A scar here or there would just make him look more manly, but a tusk-less grin? What was he, four?

Gen'taji smacked his brother on the back of the head, and Haa'aji let loose a string of curses. However, Gen'taji was not to be dissuaded from his purpose. He gripped his brother by the arm and motioned with his head to a trollish woman seated near their table with their father.

"Zen'tesh be hea ta see ya, yeh? Don' be actin' like nah bitch elf."

Haa'aji didn't bother to hide his apathy as he looked over at the hopeful looking trollish woman. Her smile wilted as his attention settled on her. It wasn't that he didn't like women—rather, he was quite fond and appreciative of the female figure—but that he just... He often felt like he was trapped, particularly when women became involved.

His family already had his life planned for him. He would be a proud Amani warrior. He would take a mate and have children. They would be proud Amani warriors. The cycle would continue.

It was so...boring.

Before Haa'aji could dismiss himself to go spy on the rogues, his father coughed into one of his hands and gave him a look that nearly made his heart stop. The troll dropped down to the table to join the others seated on the floor mats around it. He flashed Zen'tesh a reluctant smile, and she perked up a bit, as though dismissing his earlier 'mood' to have been stress or some such nonsense. Honestly, the things women could come up with to keep their idiot hopes alive.

Gen'taji motioned toward the fish and vegetables marinating in their own juices on the center of the table as he took a seat himself. "Zen'tesh hea made us dinna."

She nodded her head politely, her hands in her lap. Haa'aji poked at the meal. His father shot him another glare as he helped himself. After Gen'taji and Haa'aji had taken their food, Zen'tesh followed suit, though she merely picked at her plate as she watched Haa'aji. She looked like she wanted to ask him if he liked it, though he made a point not to look directly at her. He wouldn't give her such an opening.

Finally, his silence worked, and Gen'taji smiled at their guest. "Dis be great. Whea ya be learnin' ta make dis sort a stuff?"

"Ah taught mehself," Zen'tesh murmured. While she smiled at his brother, her gaze kept flickering back toward Haa'aji.

Haa'aji picked around the meat. Despite knowing that it was fish, he couldn't help but imagine the different horrors that elf had painted for him. Surely, she had been lying. After all, his people had honored the dead through taking parts of them into themselves for thousands of years, so if there were truly side effects, they would know it by now, wouldn't they?

"Ya...ya don' like fish?"

Haa'aji snapped from his thoughts and made the mistake of looking up to see that Zen'tesh was watching him, anxiety written all over her face as she picked at a few beads on her kilt. When he realized that all eyes were on him, with his brother and father both looking ready to smack him, Haa'aji merely shrugged. "Ah nah be feelin' it tahnight, yeh? Sorreh, mon."

Zen'tesh tried not to look hurt as she nodded. "Sorreh...Ah jus' taught...Ah jus' learned ta make dis 'n taught ya might like it."

As she looked down, Haa'aji gave his brother a pleading look, though Gen'taji merely scowled quietly before putting on a sympathetic face and reaching out to pat Zen'tesh's shoulder. "Haa'aji always been finickeh, yeh? Dea been a week, when we was kids, dat he woldn' eat ne bat at all. Ah mudda been de bes' wit' bat flesh, too, yeh? Haa'aji jus' has sum moods, sumtime."

The trollish woman tried to be comforted by Gen'taji's words, though Haa'aji could see that she was still hurt. Good. Maybe she'd stop coming by.

~"~

Gracie Waterhoof twitched one of her ears as she tried to sit attentively at the archdruid's feet. Honestly, she didn't want to hear what he had to say; it was too horrifying. Using all of her strength to keep her pale fur from bristling every time he mentioned the mysterious plague that was wreaking havoc on the Eastern Kingdoms, she barely noticed when he looked her way and frowned.

The steer beside her nudged her, and she blinked. With a sheepish hunch in her shoulders, she nodded apologetically toward the archdruid, and he continued.

Shadow was the druid beside her, and he gave her a half smile before returning his attention toward their superior. Shadow was a massive creature, even for a tauren, and yet he was one of the gentlest men Gracie had ever known. She always thought that it was a shame that he'd already found love, for she would have dearly liked to be the woman he came home to every night.

In all honesty, it was her infatuation with him that had led her to volunteer for this meeting. The archdruids of both the Alliance and the Horde—while the Tauren were still new to the Horde, they were proud to represent it—had called out to the best of their druids to aid in a secretive task. A heavy warning had come with the call: while it was not something to be spoken of lightly, the matter was grave, and only those with steeled resolve should bother to answer.

She had thought she would let this one pass her by, as there were plenty of other druids who were stronger or faster or more courageous than she was. However, when she'd heard that it was a life or death mission and that Shadow intended to go...well, she couldn't let him go by himself, now could she? Sure, he was quite strong, and he didn't really _need_ protecting...but she wanted to. It would probably be the closest she would ever get to him, too, and that was enough.

However, she hadn't expected the topic to be a plague that raised the dead. It was an unnatural abomination, and the archdruids wanted to send people to investigate it.

Bunkering down, Gracie steeled her will and prayed to any- and everything that she'd be able to keep her lunch down as the archdruid continued to detail their mission.

~"~

Shadow sighed as he entered into the night air. He thought he'd at least have a day or two to consider the archdruid's request, but the old tauren wasn't going to give them time to let nightmares weaken their determination. They were to leave tonight.

He lumbered through Thunderbluff, making his way to his tent to gather supplies. Most of what they'd need, as far as food and bandages, had been prepared well before their council, so he was really just going to gather some clothes and...

His mind blanked as he saw the slender form of a tauren woman leaning against a tree near his home. As he approached and saw the honey colored splotches of fur running along her arms, interrupting her pale coat, he smiled to himself. Whisper Windsong, his wife.

Even thinking that sent shivers through him, making his fur bristle in waves.

Her mother hadn't been too thrilled that she hadn't been present for the ceremony—neither had his mother, to be honest—but the ancestors had blessed their union. The last few days had been blissfully sweet, and the two of them were excited to spend the rest of their lives together. They were looking into where they would want their home to be in Thunder Bluff, and late night talks of how many children they would have had already begun.

Whisper looked as though she might have nodded off, and he took advantage of this to slip into cat form and stealth. He padded his way quietly over to her and paused, looking up to see that she _was_ asleep. How was it she could do so leaning against a tree? If it were him, he knew he would have fallen over by now, probably taking something out with him.

In a quick motion, he moved out of stealth and returned to his usual form, picking Whisper up in his arms and grinning as her eyes snapped open, and she looked around, almost frantic, before realizing what was happening.

With a glare, she lightly hit his chest and crossed her arms, her tail twitching irritably. "Put me down."

Shadow seemed to consider it for a moment, but laughed and complied as she threatened to use her totems on him. As her hooves hit the ground, he nuzzled her mane. "I take it I was longer than you expected?"

"What, no," Whisper objected, an embarrassed expression flitting over her face. "I... just got here a few minutes ago." She looked up to see that he wasn't buying it, and her embarrassment amplified itself.

Shadow watched her fidget before pulling her into him and holding her tightly. "I have to go for a few weeks."

"What?" Whisper tried to jerk away and glare up at him, but his grip was too tight. Instead, she glared at his pectoral. "You can't _leave_. Not now. We might be married, but mother's going to start hounding me that I need to find a new steer. One who'll be _around_."

"Well then, I'll just have to steal you back when I come home," Shadow finally released her and gave her a wink as he pinched her rump. She shoved him, and he playfully pretended to get knocked backwards.

"Good luck," Whisper muttered, a mixture of play and real indignation on her face. "Perhaps I'll like him more. He won't ditch me to go hug trees."

Shadow let out a bellowing laugh, though he quickly checked it as a few neighbors glared out of their tents, angry to have been woken so late at night. He nodded apologetically toward them and then looked back at Whisper. "When I get back, I promise to stick around for as long as you can stand me."

"You'd better hold true to that promise," Whisper wagged a finger at him. "We're bound together. Forever."

"And ever," he added, swaying a little with her, enjoying the feel of her against him.

As he smiled and held her to him again, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms and the smell of her fur, she sighed. "When do you leave?"

His smile slipped. "Now."

~"~

Adrias sat nestled in silken sheets, his eyes refusing to open the same amount as sleep still clung to their lids. Gryst'lyn had come in through his window and already scared off the woman he'd taken to bed with him earlier that night.

Gryst'lyn hadn't even waited for the door to close behind the wench before he'd started talking. Adrias' scrambled mind tried to follow his friend's logic; he had begun to register that Gryst'lyn was dressed in armor with a sword strapped to his back. He was pacing back and forth at the foot of Adrias' bed, going on and on about how the reports didn't add up.

Narrowing his eyes and trying to summon enough of his consciousness to make sense of what was going on, Adrias held up a hand and caught Gryst'lyn's attention. "What in the twisting nether are you talking about now?"

Gryst'lyn stopped in his pacing. "I'm going to go find Amaeria."

"What?" Adrias sounded more exasperated than he'd meant to, and he frowned as Gryst'lyn donned a hurt look. He floundered for a moment, trying to gather his wits. "Amaeria is dead—"

"I don't think she is," Gryst'lyn perked back up and strode alongside the bed, taking a seat near his friend. "I've been reviewing the reports in regards to how she disappeared, and there's a lot of inconsistencies. Her friend, Jaserisk something-or-other said that she wandered off by herself and that she must have been killed by the undead that have been appearing at our borders."

"Okay..." Adrias thought he was following the conversation.

"Well, others are saying it wouldn't have made sense for her to wander off by herself, and two men filed requests to have her disappearance investigated, though there's not really time for it, what with the southern villages and towns needing to be evacuated."

"Okay."

Gryst'lyn slouched forward and ran one of his hands over the back of his neck. "Well, by the time we manage to deal with those creatures, the trail will have gone cold. I understand that they can't afford to look into the matter, but..."

"Wait," Adrias clapped a hand down on Gryst'lyn's shoulder. "So they think her disappearance was suspicious, yes?"

"That's right."

"But they aren't contesting the fact that she's dead."

"She can't be dead," Gryst'lyn frowned.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Adrias took in a long, slow breath. He exhaled and repeated the action twice before opening his eyes and meeting Gryst'lyn's hopeful gaze. "You are my friend. You know this." He waited for Gryst'lyn to nod before continuing. "I have always supported you, even when I thought your decisions were moronic at best." Another nod. "This is foolishness." Gryst'lyn opened his mouth to argue, but Adrias merely held a hand up, frowning. "I am sorry that your lover is dead, but she is. She's gone. Even if parts of the report are wrong, it doesn't change the fact that she was lost to those creatures."

"But no one saw them actually ki—" He didn't' seem able to finish the word. Instead, he gulped. "No one saw them take her," Gryst'lyn's voice sounded desperate, and his ears flinched as he seemed to lose faith in his theories even as he spoke them.

"Gryst'lyn. She was a priest. Physically weak. A healer," Adrias almost stopped himself as he saw the hope slowly draining out of his friend's face, but he hardened his resolve. "Without someone to defend her, she wouldn't have been able to fend those creatures off for long. Even if she did manage to keep herself healed, fatigue would have overcome her and—"

"Enough," Gryst'lyn shot to his feet. "I'm going to find her." His voice trailed off before he shrugged his shoulders. "I was hoping you'd come with me."

The two stared at one another for an excruciatingly long moment that well could have lasted an eternity, before Gryst'lyn jerked his gaze away and headed back toward the window. Adrias watched his friend hop up onto the windowsill and cursed himself as he realized he probably would be dying for the idiot after all.

"Let me get dressed, and I'll come with you."


	6. Chapter 6

Haa'aji frowned as he examined the tracks on the ground. Elves had passed through Amani territory, recently. While he had at first wondered if perhaps it was merely that odd elven woman again, hell bent on making more trolls into anti-cannibals, he'd quickly realized that there were more than a dozen sets of footprints, all heading north.

"Trespassas," Gen'taji muttered, leaning over Haa'aji's shoulder and spitting on the ground.

Haa'aji merely frowned as he traced one of the small footprints with a finger. "But why dea be so maneh a dem, yeh?"

Gen'taji gripped his spear tighter. "Dey mus' be plannin' a attack. C'mon, le's—" he cut himself off as he hit Haa'aji in the shoulder only to get no response. Mirroring Haa'aji's expression, he squatted down beside him. "Wat?"

"Dea be tineh footprints, mon."

"Dey all be tineh—"

"Dese be liila ones. Dem runnin' from sumtin. Takin' dey familehs wit' dem."

"'n?" Gen'taji crossed his arms and glared at his brother. He'd always accused Haa'aji of being a little off, of sympathizing with those 'tiny, pale bastards.'

Haa'aji didn't care. He knew he was loyal to his people. That was what mattered.

"Maybeh we let dem go back north," Haa'aji offered, finally rising to his feet. "Ah mean, if dem be retreatin' from hea, dat be good, yeh? Dey go back north 'n maybeh dey stay dea dis time."

"If dey runnin' from sumtin, de second it be gone, dey be comin' back wit' a vengeance." Gen'taji snapped, no doubt trying to ground his brother in reality. "Maybeh dey be hopin' we fight dea fights fa dem. We be weakened fightin' whateva, den dey come back 'n off bot' us n' whateva else dea be." He drummed his fingers against his arm. "C'mon. We need ta tell de eldas."

Shadow sighed as he slumped down next to a few other druids, who were arguing over whether they ought to make a fire or if that might be a poor decision. There were eleven of them in all, six night elves and five tauren. While a few of the elders had wondered if they might be too distracted by faction conflict to work well together, they'd proven that such things were irrelevant when following their druidic code.

As Shadow considered just flopping back onto the poisoned, dead grass and sleeping as he was, he stopped when he saw Gracie had paced a few yards away from camp and was peering through the trees as though trying to see into the heart of the plagued area.

Honestly, their group was divided. Shadow and a few others were content that they'd seen enough. The plague was truly an unnatural disaster, but eleven druids would not be enough to fix it. He and the others wanted to go home, explain what they'd seen and make plans from there.

The other half of the group wanted to find out the full extent of the plague so that they could bring back a complete report to their archdruids.

Shadow didn't care. This was way beyond them. He wasn't sure that it _could_ be fixed, even if every druid in existence came forward to help. However, as much as he would have liked to just turn around and leave—the group was beginning to consider splitting up, so as to give a preliminary report and then a more in-depth one later—he had made Gracie's father a promise.

As they'd been heading out, a rather panicked older tauren had stopped Shadow and begged him to talk some sense into Gracie. He'd told him that she wasn't fit for such an expedition and that he couldn't stand the thought of her getting in over her head.

Shadow had tried to convey to the man that he didn't really know Gracie all that well and that he was better off getting one of Gracie's friends to appeal to her better judgment, but the old steer had seemed intent that it be Shadow. He'd sort of hinted that Gracie was interested in him...

That couldn't be true, right? And even if it was, he'd been in love with Whisper since the two of them could walk, and it wasn't a secret that he was newly married. It bothered him that someone he'd never paid much attention to could be so infatuated with him.

However, he couldn't turn away such a desperate steer and had promised that, if he couldn't talk Gracie out of going, he would at the very least look after her. Perhaps he could set her up with one of their fellow druids, too.

Gracie had proven to be more stubborn a woman than he'd realized existed. No, she wouldn't go home. No, she wasn't interested in Leafwalker or Plainswhisper. Why did he care who she wanted to be around, anyway?

That had been awkward.

And he couldn't help but feel he'd given her the wrong impression. Surely she didn't think he'd taken an interest in her...did she? He could almost feel Whisper glaring at him, and his ears stung with unspoken chastises about leading on his fellow druid.

"Gracie, come back to camp," Shadow called after her, pushing his wishes to go home and for life to be simple from his mind. The tauren woman turned to glare at him before clomping back toward the rest of them.

"Don't shout. You'll attract something's attention."

A few other druids chuckled, and Shadow rolled his eyes. "Just stay with the rest of us, will you?"

Gracie looked embarrassed for a moment as she plopped down in between the two who had been debating the fire. They'd decided against it and were now shivering in their loose cloaks, cursing the unnatural cold that seemed to taint the air.

She picked at the dirt caking one of her hooves and shrugged her shoulders. "I think we should keep going. We could probably go for another hour before we'd need to stop."

"This area is safe," one of the other druids argued, using the term loosely. Rather, he meant that there weren't any undead creatures in sight, though they'd already learned that such lulls seemed short lived. And there seemed to be more of them the further north into the plagued lands they went.

Gracie's ears flattened, and she huffed once as she wrapped her arms around herself and glared at the grass.

Shadow wondered if he ought to comfort her, but decided against it. He was too tired to care, and he didn't feel like continuing a conversation when sound seemed to sometimes attract the undead. The rest of the druids seemed to be thinking along the same lines as they huddled together and tried to get some rest. They'd figure out where to go from there in the morning.

~"~

Haa'aji felt like he was going to throw up as he sat with the other Amani. There was a funeral banquet being thrown for some of the 'brave' warriors who had lost their lives fighting the elves.

It didn't sit right with him. Most of the elves had been unarmed...honestly, there'd only been about three armed warriors with them at all. They'd looked terrified and disheveled, as though they'd been traveling for days with almost no food or sleep. Like the tracks from before, they'd been a few families, with the slender, stick-like elven women clutching babies to their chests and holding little ones' hands. They'd had their belongings thrown together haphazardly onto rickety wagons, and he'd known that there was no way they were invaders.

One of the elves had tried to talk to Gen'taji in broken trollish—something about meaning no harm—but his brother had merely cut her down.

Haa'aji could understand the bad blood between them—they'd been fighting for generations after all—but he couldn't see the point in harming innocents. Perhaps the elves did kill civilians, but he'd never actually heard of it happening.

He'd always sort of assumed that both of their sides had at least enough honor not to cut down little ones or…

As the first elf's body had hit the ground at Gen'taji's hand, the rest of the elves had tried to band together and fight back, but there were too few weapons and even with their magic, most of them were untrained civilians.

Haa'aji could still hear a few of the children shrieking as they tried to outrun his brethren. During the whole of the attack, he'd just stood there, watching as the elves were cut down, watching as they managed to take out a few of their attackers, though it only angered the rest of the Amani. Haa'aji couldn't blame them, though. They'd just wanted to escape whatever horrors were coming from the south.

Rumors were beginning to spread of the walking dead.

He figured if a bunch of undead people were baring down on his home, his people would be sending the children and frailer members to safety as well. Their warriors were probably fighting back whatever it was, thinking that they were protecting their homes for the families they no longer had.

One of women had caught the look of disgust or horror or whatever it was that had been plastered to his face, and she had run toward him, begging in a language he didn't understand and holding out her child to him, like he would take the little creature and flee to safety. Even as tears had pricked her eyes, and she'd tried to speak a few sporadic trollish words, Gen'taji had slammed his spear through the back of her neck, spraying his brother with the elf's blood. The child—he doubted older than two, though he wasn't completely sure when it came to the little elves—had been gutted as an afterthought.

Haa'aji wanted to go back and bury them, in the very least. Why couldn't he have just reached out and stopped his brother from killing that first elf? Let them escape to wherever they were going. Perhaps they'd have remembered the act of kindness, and they would have worked toward some type of peace.

He didn't see how any of them could call themselves proud warriors when they'd just slaughtered a bunch of defenseless children...

"Haa'aji."

The troll blinked, slowly coming from his thoughts, though the sick feeling in his gut was determined to haunt him. His brother was holding out a plate to him with a small bit of meat on it. Haa'aji knew what was expected of him. Honor the dead heroes by taking in a part of their heart for their courage.

What courage?

"Nah tanks, mon," Haa'aji muttered and pushed the plate away.

The trolls nearest him all stopped and stared, eyes widening. His brother's jaw dropped open. It took him a moment to realize that eyes were on him as well. Gen'taji frowned, furrowing his hairless brow and pushed the plate toward Haa'aji again. "Now ain' nah time ta be finickeh. Jus' hona ah bruddas 'n—"

"Wat hona dey be deservin', hmm?" Haa'aji cocked his head. "Dey killed demselves a tree-yea-ol'. Good fa dem. Real ha'd kill dea." He pushed the plate away again. "Nah tanks. Ah nah be needin' dat malice in meh system."

~"~

Shadow hated himself. The group had split up, with over half of the druids returning to Moonglade and only four of them staying behind. Honestly, he was half tempted to just grab Gracie and teleport them both back to Kalimdor, but the tauren woman seemed to be expecting such an ambush, for she was oddly alert.

All four of them had taken to their cat forms so that they could sneak past the increasing bands of rotting monsters more easily. It pained him to see that even the animals of these lands had suffered from the mysterious disease...well, it wasn't as mysterious as he'd like it to be. He and the others had seen the plague cauldrons and knew that whatever it was that now swept the area had been made by mortal creatures.

What more did they need for their report? It was foolish to continue on as they were, yet none of the others would listen to him. Damn the balance, he only needed Gracie to listen, but the other two backed her in such a way that it gave her confidence in her foolhardiness.

Shadow had tried playing the 'think of your family' card already, but she had just brushed it off, saying that they would be proud of her for all that she was doing. They were going to be heroes. He wondered if she really believed that. Would they be proud that she'd gotten herself killed?

However, what he hated more was that they had been right. By continuing their mission, they could now tell the others that the risen monstrosities walking the land were at least somewhat organized. Late that afternoon, they'd come across a small village—what was left of one—and had found that there were stronger, more intact creatures in plated armor who seemed to be directing the actions of the rotting corpses.

They had glowing blue eyes and an unnatural aura of death surrounded them. It made Shadow's fur bristle. The four of them had prowled the outskirts of the town and had been repulsed to learn that there were still some living creatures in one of the broken buildings, though they were well guarded. While Shadow didn't know their language, the wails that punctuated the putrid air were enough to convince him that those survivors wished they were dead.

Shadow sat with the others in a small alcove near the village. Everyone wanted to go home now, except for Gracie. She glared at the rest of them, her feline shoulders quivering with indignation. "We can't just leave them to be tortured...murdered."

One of the others shook his head. "We four can do nothing to save them. All we would do is add our corpses to the piles they have. I do not wish to speak on your behalf, but I would be loathe to be raised as such an abomination."

The other druid nodded. "We should take our report back. We can return with more reinforcements—"

"But they'll be dead by then!" Gracie hissed, trying to keep her voice a whisper.

Shadow cleared his throat. "For all we know, they already are. We heard them nearly twenty minutes ago. They could well be gone at this point. While I will not sleep well knowing that we left them behind, I think it is for the best that we return to Moonglade. We will not be able to help anyone if we join them." As Gracie scowled, he placed a paw on hers. "Think. If we do not return, they will send others. It will just be more bodies to this curse."

Her face twisted angrily, though even as she started to speak, she seemed to see truth in his words. Her shoulders sagged slightly, the fight finally draining from her.

"It wouldn't be good for more to come here, not knowing what to expect, would it?"

Shadow sighed.

Finally.

He could practically hear Whisper chiding him for taking so long.

Even as one of the other druids nodded, relieved, the earth beneath them abruptly erupted into decaying, seething disease. Three of them scattered away while the fourth was caught by strange purple arcs of energy and dragged through the air to the feet of one of the armored leaders of the undead that they'd seen before. Even as the druid struggled to twist onto her feet and run, several of the undead gripped her by her limbs and sunk their teeth into her flesh, tearing and clawing her to pieces.

As she shrieked in pain, their leader strolled past, and Shadow felt horror curling in his gut. Their attacker was a gnome. Her hair was pulled back into two dull pink dog ears, and her glowing blue gaze swept over them, apathy tugging her blackened, decaying lips into a bored frown.

Gracie growled and lunged toward the little creature, her claws extended. As she landed upon her enemy, Shadow found himself breaking out of his form to throw every heal he knew toward the foolish tauren. The gnome was faster than Gracie had realized. In a moments breath, the creature had swung itself up onto her back and was tearing at the druid's fur with her gauntleted hands.

The little creature cackled as Gracie tried to shake her off, only to trip when a hand shot out of the earth and grabbed one of her back legs. Her knee snapped, and she let out a sharp cry, though Shadow's magic mended her injury. With a sharp kick, she freed herself and then rolled forward into the grass, switching to bear form as she pinned her attacker to the earth in an attempt to crush the damnable thing. While the gnome managed to struggle free with her life, one of her arms had been crunched and hung awkwardly at her side.

Even as the little gnome tried to hold her broken arm, a look of sheer hatred settling on her tiny features, the ghoul who had come up and grabbed hold of Gracie's leg earlier tackled the bear, biting and snapping with his broken teeth in an attempt to tear off her face.

Gracie switched back to cat form and darted back, frantically looking for more ghouls, like the ones who had attacked their fellow druid. However, the original ghouls lay sprawled across the ground, already rapidly deteriorating into dust.

Shadow felt a burst of hope, perhaps they could outlast the monsters. It seemed that the more they moved, the faster they fell apart...or at least...those others had. The gnome seemed intent on keeping her remaining ghoul alive and in her defense.

Throwing an extra rejuvenation on Gracie, he called out to their other companion to attack the gnome, though he frowned when he got no response. He barely heard the light crunch of frosty footsteps behind him before he felt a blade slam through his shoulder.

He heard Gracie shriek, though he wasn't sure if it was because of what was happening to her or to him. Kneeling, he tried to heal himself, only to feel some sort of magic close around his vocal cords and silence him. The blade went into his back again, and he looked over his shoulder to see a human man standing over him, holding a cruel looking sword.

Focusing his strength as the silence ended, he threw several heals on himself and brought one of his hooves up and smashed it into the man's face. His attacker staggered backwards, black blood oozing unnaturally from his broken nose. As the monster tried to gain control of itself, Shadow looked back to Gracie and cried out for her to come to him. She was still fending off the ghoul and the gnome, though he could see she was already trying to reach him. She'd switched out of her animal forms and was desperately attempting to keep herself alive long enough to make it back to him. He threw a few more heals to her.

The gnome had stopped chasing Gracie. Instead, she was screaming in some cruel language. Calling for help, no doubt.

Shadow breached the distance between he and his fellow druid and slammed his shoulder into the ghoul, sending it crumpling to the earth. "Run!"

The two of them shifted into their travel forms and took off into the woods.

They'd barely made it half a mile when Gracie let out a sharp yelp, and Shadow turned to see a hook had caught her in the side and was dragging her back. Even as her body thudded harshly into the ground, a giant cleaver slammed into her torso. Her whimpering fell silent.

Shadow whirled around and nearly tripped over his own feet as he stared back at the creature which had caught her. A true abomination, if ever he'd seen one.

The monster lumbered toward him, stepping on and crushing one of Gracie's legs as it moved passed her.

The woods were alive with the unholy creatures...ghouls, more of the giant constructs, and, in the distance, he could hear the little gnome's laugh.

As he resigned himself to his fate, he thought of Whisper, leaning against the tree near their house. He tried not to think of what she would do when he didn't come home. He shouldn't have taken responsibility for Gracie. He shouldn't have left Thunder Bluff. He should have stayed with Whisper, should have curled up with her as they talked about their future. He could see images of those daydreams that had been bouncing around in his head since he was a little thing, and he tried to hold onto them as the undead advanced.

He considered what Gracie had said.

Perhaps they would at least think they had died heroes.

~"~

Tinker frowned as she concentrated harder and gave one of Shadow's horns a final tug. With a triumphant laugh, the horn broke off in her cold grip, and she held it up toward the sky, as though to show the gods or light or nether what she had done.

She felt great. The voice in her head was praising her, and nothing hurt. The hunt had been worth it.

Shawn merely frowned and kicked at Gracie's corpse. "I think I hate druids. So hard to kill."

"Well, I got them at least," Tinker shrugged, still perched on top of Shadow's shoulder. She took his horn and seemed to consider impaling him with it, but instead just tossed it into the grass, frowning as she noticed Shawn was glaring at her. "What? It's not like you did anything useful except get your face broken."

He muttered something under his breath, but made no attempt to argue.

"You know what we should do?" she asked, suddenly grinning cruelly. "Let's take them back to Acherus. I bet these two would make great knights, hmm?"

Still in a sour mood, Shawn tested Gracie's weight before motioning for the nearest abomination to come carry her. "I'm more concerned about the one who got away."

Tinker laughed as several ghouls surrounded Shadow and heaved him up. "Oh, Shawn. What's the worst it can do? Get friends?"


	7. Chapter 7

Haa'aji held his breath as he stared at the trollish woman in front of him. He'd finally pushed his luck too far.

At the banquet, he'd been sure his brother was going to cut him down where he sat for his disrespect to the fallen. In fact, his brother had probably thought he was going to as well. However, the elders had stepped in and stayed Gen'taji's hand.

They had asked Haa'aji what he meant and, without thinking, he had told them. He had damned the dead fools for their massacre of innocents and had damned anyone who thought it was even remotely acceptable. He'd asked them how they would want _their_ offspring and mates to be cut down in cold blood.

When he was done, he'd seen Zen'tesh watching him from a table over, an unreadable expression on her face. He wasn't sure why he'd noticed her, but one of his tusks was nearly broken off as one of the elders had gripped it and jerked his attention back toward them.

If he was so sympathetic to the elves, they had decided, he could join them.

As they stripped him of his weapons and scrubbed his war paint from his body, it hadn't really occurred to him that he was being exiled. When they led him to the outskirts of their territory and shoved him into the woods without even a loincloth to his name, it still somehow seemed unreal.

Even now, he half expected to wake up and see that it had all been a dream.

He'd been mulling about near the border, unsure of what he was supposed to do—beg for forgiveness? maybe try to come back with a few elven heads?—when he'd heard something stumbling through the trees and had gone for the thickest branch he could find, thinking to use it as a club.

Instead of elves, angry warriors, or undead monsters, Zen'tesh had practically fallen out of the tangled underbrush, carrying two stolen spears and a small satchel of food.

The woman gripped the weapons tightly as though she were terrified to see Haa'aji as he was, naked and forsaken. While he struggled to even comprehend why she was standing in front of him, she shakily held out one of the spears. "Ah...ah didn' realize dey took ev'rehtin...It be okay. Ah wolda grabbed moa food, but...dey moved ya so fast...Ah didn' wan' ta loose ya..."

He had never thought he would be so grateful for her unwavering dedication. Even knowing that she could never go home to her family...never see them again, she had followed him. Haa'aji stared at her and considered holding her to him and making her his right there, though the faces of the elves flickered in his mind. They were fleeing from something horrible. Something that now he was going to have to contend with, on his own.

As Zen'tesh chattered on about how she could cook most anything they came across and how even though they were low on resources at the moment, she had faith they'd find something, Haa'aji felt that knot in his stomach return. He'd let that elven woman and her child die, and there was nothing he could do to change that, but he could still save Zen'tesh.

"De fuck be wrong wit' ya?" Haa'aji asked, his expression blanking.

"Wat?" Zen'tesh's nervous smile faded. She'd been growing more enthusiastic as she'd talked about how they would manage to survive in the wild, but his question had shattered her confidence.

"Go home," Haa'aji muttered, running his fingers through his hair and dropping his stick.

"Mah home be wit' ya."

"De hell it be," he retorted, and frowned as she donned a hurt look. He ignored the pang of guilt in his mind as she tried to understand what he was saying. He let his face twist into anger. "Ah neva been interested. Wat good ya be ta meh now? Sumtin else ta look out fa while Ah try ta survive. Nah, mon. Ah ain' gon ta be responsible fa ya."

Zen'tesh straightened up. "Ya don be meanin' dat."

"Ah do," Haa'aji shrugged. "Dis..." he motioned around them toward the woods, "be de greatest ting ta happen ta meh. Now Ah don' have ta be seein' ya come crawlin' by ev'reh day. Go home. Dea be plenteh a trolls ta ovalook ya pitiful natua, yeh? Ah nah be one a dem."

He left her standing alone in the woods, though he made sure to wander back later, to make sure she wasn't stupidly staying out in the open. She was gone, though she'd left the satchel of food.

He left it where it lay and turned his attention toward the elven territories.

~"~

Screams.

_You are mine._

Puddles of mud and blood, mixing between the cracked cobblestones.

_My blade. My weapon. Death perfected._

Begs for mercy.

_Show them how they waste their words._

Curses.

_Let them know their Light has left them._

Voices damning his existence.

_Kill them._

Shadow brought the mace he'd been given down onto a terrified woman's head. Her sobbing quieted almost instantly. He boiled the blood of the girl watching from where she thought she'd hidden herself in their cabinets and then stalked out of the house.

Ghouls raced through the streets past him, and he watched them with mild apathy.

_Another soul to harvest._

Shadow turned sharply and death gripped a teenage boy out of an alley, where he'd tried to hide amidst garbage. Another choked sob drew his attention, and he let the human fall broken to the earth as he strode down the darkened passage, stopping to see a little girl clutching an injured kitten to her chest.

_Make them suffer._

"No..." Shadow whispered, ending the child and pet with a single stroke of his weapon. He stared blankly down at the crumpled body at his feet.

"Hmm? Talking to yourself again?"

Shadow turned his blue gaze back toward the street to see Tinker perched on top of a ghoul, watching him with an amused look. While she'd originally worked mostly with a human death knight named Shawn, the human had been sent back to Lordaeron to deal with issues with the plague or some nonsense. It didn't involve Shadow, and so Shadow didn't know the details. That was how things were now. He knew only exactly what he needed to accomplish his missions for the Lich King.

He lumbered back toward the little gnome, the spikes on his plate shoulders scraping into the walls of the narrow way. How had he made it in there to begin with? "Kisses. Shouldn't you be maiming something?"

"Shouldn't you?" she grinned. Her name in life had been Tinker, but in death, she'd been given a nickname to emphasize her stellar personality. More than a few of their brothers and sisters in arms found the name amusing. Especially when they got to introduce her to anyone who needed some _persuading_ to give information.

_End them._

Both death knights turned toward one of the houses near them and started toward it. Tinker cackled as they approached. "Humans are so disgusting. Like cockroaches...it always amazes me all the places they find to hide."

"I thought you enjoyed the hunt?" Shadow asked. While Tinker seemed to take the question as a joke and laughed, Shadow merely strode on, reaching the door before his gnomish companion and easily tearing it off its hinges.

As he walked into the place and turned toward the sounds of sniveling and attempted covering of hiccupped sobs, he noticed Tinker's ghoul had entered after him, alone. While she normally rode on the creature's shoulders, when she wanted to play with her prey, she chose to rely more so on being able to slip into places without being seen. Shadow's frozen presence would hide hers and give her the ability to sneak up on any of the ones he missed.

He would try not to leave any for her. She was too cruel with her antics, often trying to give them the hope that they might get away before summoning her army of ghouls to overwhelm them in the last moment.

He felt like he has seen that happen first hand, though he couldn't remember when that had been. On the occasion he tried to recall it, frantic shrieks and a sense of dread filled him, though they were quickly lulled away by the constant pain that thrummed through him.

He saw the child first, though the boy's father attempted an ambush and leapt at him from another room with a fire poker. Shadow easily dodged the human's clumsy attacks, caught him by the throat, and slammed his head into his knee. He heard the child wail and looked up to see that Tinker had come in through the window.

_Show them pain._

Knowing he'd have to hear about it later, Shadow threw his mace at the boy, killing him even as Tinker moved in to break a limb and show the little boy the true meaning of agony. The gnome frowned and glared at her tauren companion as he strode over and hoisted his mace up.

"You are a terrible death knight," Tinker muttered. She kicked lightly at one of his hooves before her ghoul shambled into the room, and she hurriedly scurried up it to rest on its shoulders again. "You're lucky you're so intimidating to look at...otherwise I think they'd have tossed you back into the pile by now." As he gave her an irritated look, she arched her eyebrows and the taunt skin on her face pulled unnaturally. "You think people haven't noticed? You defy our master."

"When have I ever?" Shadow muttered, already moving out of the house.

Tinker followed him, unrelenting. "You don't follow his commands. You show them mercy."

"They're still dead, aren't they?"

That commanding voice in his head had stopped, and Shadow sighed. Everything was dead. That meant peace for at least a little while. He slowed his pace as he walked toward the town's square. If he took longer, that meant it would be a longer silence in his head. Unless some fool tried to flee from the ghouls and headed in his direction. He'd already had that happen twice today.

Tinker didn't mind the slow pace and quietly surveyed the burning houses and broken bodies littering the way. A few cultists had come to start gathering corpses, and she gave the nearest two a cold glare, sending them skittering away.

She laughed, enjoying their fear, though she frowned as the town's square came into view. There was a broken fountain at its center, and part of the base had been shattered, leaving the water to pool on the cobblestones around its base.

Another death knight was shoving an older man's face into the inch of water, grating the fragile man's nose into the ground as he drowned him. As they got closer, it seemed that the man was already dead, though their fellow knight was still desecrating his body.

Tinker let out a low, irritated hiss, and a small puff of frozen air escaped her lips. "For fuck's sake. First I have to deal with you and now Bloodsworn?"

Shadow cocked his head as he eyed the human knight. "You're just angry that he makes you look like a cuddly little bunny."

"I will knee cap you," Tinker muttered, though her voice trailed off as Bloodsworn caught sight of them and finally let go of his latest victim.

He trotted up to them, giving each an enthusiastic nod. "Great night to be dead, wouldn't you agree?" When neither of them responded, his smile slipped. He was known to hate the 'softer' death knights, or so Shadow had heard. "So...I know it may be a bit late in the game—for this town anyway—but I was wondering if you have any prisoners."

"If we took any prisoners, it was for a reason," Tinker muttered. Last time Bloodsworn had shown up, he'd accused her of being merciful by keeping a few of the townsfolk alive. Even when she'd proved that she'd been keeping them to interrogate and torture, he hadn't bothered to apologize. She didn't like people accusing her of not doing her job.

Shadow had had to listen to her bitch about it for weeks. With that in mind, he wasn't looking forward to the idea of having to hear about whatever would come out of this meeting.

Bloodsworn laughed at Tinker's expression. "Ah, no. I don't doubt you need them. Rather, I was hoping that, if you have any elves, or...younger humans, I might have them when you're done? My pet's a little lonely."

"Pet?" Shadow's fur bristled. Something about the way Bloodsworn had said it stirred something long forgotten inside of him...

"Ah, I suppose I never told you, did I?" His enthusiasm returned twice over. "I procured myself a living healer. She doesn't take orders very well, though. It's a matter of time, though. It's a little side project I've been working on."

"We have living healers," Shadow said, bored.

"They're called cultists," Tinker added, enjoying teaming up against the other knight.

Bloodsworn's smile wavered, though he forced it back. "But the Light doesn't serve them as well as it would a purer soul."

"But we don't need the light because it burns," Tinker interrupted him before he could launch into a lengthy explanation of his plan.

Bloodsworn seemed to be growing impatient. "Yes, yes. But, if we had a living healer, just think. We could send her into our enemies' bases and then when we send in the ghouls, she'll already be there to keep them alive."

"Again, a cultist can do that," Tinker muttered.

"Well that little bitch needs to learn who's in charge," Bloodsworn snapped back. He seemed as surprised as they were by his outburst.

Glancing around with a sudden feeling of unease, Shadow shifted his weight. "Who?"

Bloodsworn forced a laugh. "Oh? No, no one. Never mind. I'm just...if you have any prisoners like the ones I'm looking for, send them my way? My pet has been a little lonely since she figured out her dear Gryst'lyn isn't coming to save her."

~"~

Adrias smiled as a woman's hand brushed against his shoulder, stirring him from his dreams. He reached out and let his hand trail down her arm. "Give me a few more minutes, love—"

He let out a sharp cry as he felt that same hand slap him, and his eyes shot open. Prynn had jerked her hand away from him, and she glared at him as though his mere touch had somehow defiled her. "We're moving soon, so get up."

Adrias muttered something about a prude bitch which warranted another smack to his head as he rose. However, as he sat up, his blanket fell away from his naked body, and Prynn jerked away from him, her cheeks flushing as she turned her back. Adrias preferred to sleep in the nude, and he wasn't about to apologize for it. And besides, they'd had sex before, so it wasn't like she was seeing something new. As he reached out and pulled his robe to him, he arched a delicate black eyebrow. "If you're so offended, why do you let your gaze linger so?"

He dressed himself with the speed and skill of a man who was used to having to flee from disgruntled husbands or angry parents for many a year as Prynn snapped a hasty rebuttal. He and Gryst'lyn had been attempting to sneak out of the city—which had gone under marshal law until the undead threat could accurately be gauged—when the little wench had called them out. Apparently the priestess had been coming to see how Gryst'lyn was dealing with the death of their beloved Amaeria when she'd seen him slip out of his house.

When Gryst'lyn had told the elf of his plans to find and rescue Amaeria from whatever fate had befallen her, both men had been surprised when Prynn jumped at the thought, eagerly offering to heal for them.

She and Gryst'lyn had been content to chatter away about how if anyone could survive an undead invasion, it would be Amaeria and how she was so lucky and a bunch of other comments that Adrias tuned out for fear of somehow falling under the elf's thrall as well—honestly, this Amaeria had to be using some sort of spell for two people to so adamantly believe that she was indestructible.

They had gotten lost almost as soon as they'd left the city. While Adrias had tried to point out that if they were this incompetent, they wouldn't make it far enough to save the beloved little priest, Gryst'lyn had suggested they recruit Jaserisk to assist them. After all, he'd been at the outpost where Amaeria had disappeared and—assuming he was the friend Amaeria had always claimed him to be—surely he'd be able to right things. Adrias had been reminded of Gryst'lyn's earlier doubt in the man—he'd been the Farstrider to say Amaeria had wandered off, after all—when Prynn had hesitantly suggested they not.

When prodded, she'd quickly brushed it off by saying that Jaserisk had been deeply affected by whatever it was he'd seen out there. He wasn't himself anymore, and he'd already told Prynn there would be no search and rescue missions for their beloved childhood friend.

Adrias had taken that as a sign that they were not meant to do anything stupid. Gryst'lyn had taken it as a sign that they should find out what Adrias' Farstrider brother was up to these days.

Adrias wanted to hit his head against a tree, but had conceded that his younger brother, Wren, was stationed at a Farstrider Enclave not far from the city. After almost two days of wandering lost through the woods, they'd been discovered by a few patrolling Farstriders and—as the gods and Light and whatever else might be out there seemed to hate Adrias with a passion—taken back to the very enclave they were trying to find.

Though Adrias still asked the universe why they couldn't have been horribly lost and simply wound up back at the gates of Silvermoon, he knew it was pointless. Worse, he was beginning to wonder if maybe there was something to that whole 'Believe in the Light' priest bullshit. It seemed that something wanted them searching for Amaeria.

His brother had been less than pleased to see him, but—being somewhat a white sheep in their warlock family—had been unable to turn away a tearful Prynn and hopeful Gryst'lyn.

Well, they'd also lied to him and told him that the prince himself had ordered they go investigate the coming tide of death. When Wren had asked to see the orders, Prynn had burst into tears, and Gryst'lyn had made up some nonsense about losing it when he fell down an embankment.

While Adrias doubted Wren believed them, he'd agreed to lead them where they wanted to go, though he warned them that if it became too dangerous, they would have to turn back.

That had been almost three weeks ago.

Adrias hopped to his feet and strode past the modest priest to where Wren was quietly cooking some small animal over an open fire. Gryst'lyn sat quietly beside him, fidgeting. The elf had to hate every moment they weren't moving. By the nether, Adrias suspected that if he hadn't come with Gryst'lyn, the moron would have pushed himself past the point of exhaustion and killed himself already.

As Adrias dropped down beside the fire, Wren ignored him and sliced some of the meat from the animal, handing it to Prynn. She mumbled a thank you and sat a little ways away from the others. While she was happy to go save her friend, Adrias could tell she didn't like being in a group with all men.

She looked over the group as she quietly munched on her food, seeming to debate whether or not to ask a question. Wren glanced at her curiously and smiled. "Miss Prynn, right?"

"Yes, m'lord."

Or it could be the fact that all three of them were nobles, and she was a common elf. Adrias had forgotten about that bit. Wren nodded to her, and Adrias narrowed his eyes as he noticed Prynn blush slightly. Even as Wren opened his mouth to ask whatever question had been mulling around in that empty blonde head of his, Adrias found himself snapping, "He's married, you know."

Prynn looked somewhat indignant and tried to muster up a response about how she wasn't even thinking about attempting to bed a noble out in the middle of nowhere. However, Adrias froze as he caught Wren's cold gaze.

"Yes, I am married. How's my wife, by the way? Since, you know, you see her more often than I do." As everyone else's eyes widened, Wren feigned a look of surprise, still staring at Adrias. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you not know that I was aware of your affair?"

Adrias narrowed his eyes as he looked over his brother. So that's why he wasn't talking to him. He'd been wondering why the elf had just up and left the city so suddenly. He shrugged. "I don't see why you're upset. It was a political marriage, and it's not like she was ever interested in you."

"Do you see me bedding _your_ wife?"

"Pretty sure you'd have to pay her to sleep with you, and honestly, Wren, I think you're above whores."

Wren looked ready to pull out his long golden locks, though he merely closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. As Adrias glanced at Prynn, he saw that she had a deer-in-the-headlights expression and didn't seem to know what to think. Only Gryst'lyn seemed unphased. He was far too used to Adrias' antics, and he accepted him as the lying, cheating, manipulative bastard that he was with no questions asked.

A true friend.

It also helped that mere months ago, he'd been almost the exact same, too. Until that wretched Amaeria had ensnared him with those droll concepts like monogamy and love.

Gryst'lyn rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head, his armor clinking softly in time with his movements. As he swung his arms down, he walked over to his hawkstrider and patted its beak gently. "We're wasting daylight. Think we can be moving in ten?"


	8. Chapter 8

Amaeria strode through the city streets, shivering despite the warm night. Why did she still feel so cold? She nearly walked into a magister and his whore, and both of them gave her dirty looks even as she weakly apologized.

Ignoring the nagging sensation in the back of her mind that something was horribly wrong, Amaeria started walking again, heading home. The Scourge hadn't made it to Silvermoon yet, and she'd been so relieved to be able to warn them. While she'd offered to help prepare, thinking to give insight onto the different monsters she'd seen, the magisters had merely told her that they'd call her when they needed a healer and had dismissed her.

Amaeria couldn't help but feel as though she'd done something wrong. As she drew closer to her street, she noticed a couple walking toward her. The woman gave her a sour look and then leaned into her lover, whispering loud enough for Amaeria to hear. "She makes everyone think she's dead so that it's some miracle that she comes home. Honestly, how could she do that to the ones she claims she loves?"

"Because she doesn't care," the man muttered as they passed her. "She's just a class hopper, nothing more."

Amaeria felt sick. She didn't care if everyone else thought she was just trying to move up in the world, but did Gryst'lyn? She picked up her pace, turning away from her original path and setting off toward the Emberdawn manor. Home could wait, she needed to see Gryst'lyn.

It seemed like an eternity as she hurried through the streets. When she reached the Emberdawn's home, she stopped. The gate to their home was askew and she couldn't see anyone within the courtyard in front of their home. She stepped past the gate and felt the world grow colder.

She knew this cold, though she couldn't place it. Shivering despite herself, she ran into the house, calling out for her lover. She raced through the empty halls, upstairs and through what felt like a maze. As she stopped in the doorway to his room, she pushed the door open and froze.

Gryst'lyn and Prynn were together, their naked bodies tangled in the bed sheets as he thrust himself into her. Prynn's lips brushed against his neck as her gaze flickered toward the door. With a frown, she lifted her head up.

"Oh, you're back."

Amaeria felt tears pricking her eyes, and she staggered backwards. Gryst'lyn paused to look over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at her. "You didn't expect me to wait for a dead woman, did you?"

She felt like her heart would stop. Wanted it to. She shook her head. "This isn't...real."

A scream from outside caught her attention, and she drew herself away from the sordid affair, toward the nearest window. Ghouls were chasing people down the streets, catching them and slaughtering them as they screamed for help.

Even as she tried to steady her breathing, Amaeria felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Prynn standing behind her, half of her face already beginning to decay. "Why did you lead them to us?"

~"~

Amaeria let out a shriek as she snapped awake. Various pains overtook her as she reached consciousness, and she almost welcomed them as they temporarily blocked out her dream. She tried to reach up and rub her eyes, but one of her hands wouldn't come to her.

It took her a moment to remember that it was tied down to the table. Her knuckles were gray and pale, most of the blood flow cut off at the wrist by the rough rope. Hunger gnawed at her gut, and she was half grateful that she wasn't really back in Silvermoon. She didn't want Gryst'lyn to see her like this. Her long hair had been hacked at different lengths, making her look like a shaggy street wretch, and she was getting so thin... In the past few days, she'd started to have trouble lifting her head. She couldn't remember such things taking so much energy...

She tried to move so as to alleviate some of the pressure on her wrist and her back burst into a fresh wave of pain. There was something sharp resting beneath her. Well, more than one.

Biting her lip to keep herself from breaking out into sobs, she took in a few ragged breaths and debated what would be worse, losing her hand or trying to move over whatever was underneath her.

"Pleasant dreams?" A voice came from behind her.

She didn't look toward him and gave up trying to move to make her pains stop. He wouldn't let her have any respite.

Sure enough, she felt one of his gauntlets on her arm, and he jerked her toward him on the table, dragging her back over what had to be glass shards and snapping her wrist. She whimpered despite herself.

Bloodsworn let out a soft chuckle as he flipped a small dagger in his fingers. "Where shall we start today, hmm?"

Amaeria didn't answer. She tried not to speak to him or to any of the 'friends' he brought to her. She'd spoken with the first one he'd ever thrown in with her and after the way he'd killed the poor child...he always killed them quicker if she stayed detached.

It was a point of pride for him, showing her that she couldn't save them.

She heard a horrified gasp from somewhere beyond her line of sight, and her stomach sunk. Another lost soul. Even as she wondered who it was, Bloodsworn dug his dagger into her waist, and she fought back a shudder. She didn't scream anymore. She didn't have the energy to.

Bloodsworn left the dagger in her side and frowned. He'd been growing impatient with her of late, and she hoped that sooner than later he would grow bored and just kill her. She'd never thought she would long for death so whole-heartedly.

Sometimes she tried to remember what it had been like in Silvermoon, with Prynn, her father, and the Light. With Gryst'lyn. It was all so hard to remember. Sometimes, it terrified her to realize she couldn't recall the color of Prynn's hair or the feel of Gryst'lyn fingers running down her back. Everything was slipping away.

Terrifying as it was, a shameful part of her was trying to help it along. If she couldn't remember, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. If there was nothing left of her, maybe he would see that he'd won and toss her body out with the rest of his toys.

Bloodsworn smacked her head into the table, and darkness closed in on her world. She prayed to the Light to at least let her have happier dreams this time, though she wasn't sure she really wanted them. Remembering that she'd been loved once upon a time only made it worse to wake up to this hell. Maybe she wouldn't wake up at all.

That was something to pray for.

~"~

Thalach Battlecleaver scratched at his chin as he surveyed the land sprawling before them, twisted and tainted and dead. After some night elf druid had made it back to report that the plagued lands were far worse than anyone could have imagined, Thrall had decided to send a small detachment of soldiers to see if territory could be won back.

There was a great deal of reluctance in Orgrimmar, for their new pacts with Theramore and the like were tenuous at best. The tauren were just making a permanent home in Mulgore as the orcs helped them fight back the quilboar, and Orgrimmar itself still hadn't been completed.

A plague on the human's continent didn't seem like something that the orcs needed to deal with. Unfortunately, while Thalach may have been one of the youngest to hold such a position in the orcish forces, he still didn't rank high enough that he could tell the warchief of the growing Horde that this was foolishness.

It didn't matter. There's was little different than the druids' mission before them. They were to explore the might of this undead force and—after properly gauging how strong they were—report back with suggested numbers needed to quell the problem, should it become any more dangerous.

As he let his gaze wander toward the north, one of his men stepped up next to him. Both of their armor were covered in blood and rot, though Thalach's hands were still steady. His subordinate gripped the hilts of his daggers, as though to hide the shaking in his hands.

"They say there used to be an elven kingdom up north, but communications have ceased."

"You think the elves are dealing with the undead, then?"

"If they're strong enough," the rogue murmured. "Regardless, I…"

Thalach turned slowly to look down his nose at the orc standing beside him. That gave the rogue pause, though it was just for a second.

Taking in a quivering breath—pathetic—he finally nodded to Thalach. "We need to turn back. Whatever this is, we shouldn't be here."

"Your warchief disagrees," Thalach dismissed. As much as he would have loved to go home—his wife was heavy with their third child, and he'd still been mulling over names—he wasn't about to give up on their efforts until he'd gone at least as far as those pathetic druids. "Get some rest. You're more useful to the corpses than to me with your hands shaking like that. We'll head further inland just before dawn."

Though the rogue looked like he wanted to argue further, he stopped himself when Thalach drew his blade, giving him a look that simply dared the orc to try to disobey a direct order.

As the rogue stalked away, not even bothering to hold his head up with some semblance of dignity, Thalach looked back the way he'd been watching before. What the rogue hadn't seemed to notice—likely because he was too concerned with turning tail and fleeing—were the occasional lights that Thalach could make out through the trees that way.

Something was there.

There'd been reports of a town with prisoners.

Even if they were humans, Thalach supposed that the least they could do was save the poor bastards the druids hadn't been able to get to.

They had to be close to where that had happened, surely, for the undead presence was getting far too prevalent, and Thalach refused to believe that he and his men couldn't endure as much as a bunch of tree huggers.


	9. Chapter 9

Haa'aji took a running jump and jerked himself up into the higher branches of a rather scraggly looking tree. He pulled his emaciated body to the trunk of the tree and willed himself not to be seen.

The ghouls below hadn't seen him yet and, uninjured as he was, they weren't driven to find him with their bloodlust. The rotting corpses meandered along, one walking into the base of the tree he was hiding in for a moment before managing to redirect itself around.

Haa'aji held his breath until he thought he would pass out and then he slowly let it out as softly as possible.

He was getting to be pretty damn good at sneaking around, though somehow his roguish victory seemed hollow. What was the point? It wasn't like he'd ever be part of the order.

More often than not, Haa'aji found himself cursing his own stupidity. No, he didn't think the elves should have died. But was that really worth this? He could barely find anything safe enough to eat, and even when he did, he had to settle for it raw. Fires and smoke drew the undead like magic did elves. He longed to be back with his brother and his cookie cutter life, but he knew there was no point. He'd tried to go back twice, to beg for mercy, and they had merely turned him away.

They wouldn't even kill him.

No, if he was going to die, it would be a pitiful, wretched death.

Haa'aji wasn't sure why he still fought so hard to keep going. He supposed he just wasn't ready to die yet. What was he still living for? It seemed like it would be so much easier to just use the rusted dagger he'd found in one of the decimated elven settlements and end his own life. Hell, even if those despicable necromancers raised him, being a ghoul didn't look like it'd be so bad. They didn't seem to know that they were monsters.

He inspected the surrounding woods and slowly slipped back to the ground. Being a ghoul would probably beat starving to death, too.

With a quiet sigh, Haa'aji shook off his thoughts of suicide. He might not be an Amani anymore, but he was still a proud fighter. He wouldn't die by any other means than battle. So he was a bit hungry...he'd figure something out.

He hunched toward the ground and began to walk carefully through the forest, careful not to step on anything that might make enough noise to alert the monsters around him of his presence.

~"~

"Gracie—"

"That's not my name," the tauren death knight hissed at Shadow.

He stood awkwardly in front of her, his hulking form blocking her exit. It was the first he'd seen of her since their deaths, and he wasn't sure why he'd gone over to her. He couldn't quite remember her, in all honesty, though when he'd looked at her, he'd known that they'd had some sort of connection in life. Whatever it was eluded his attempts to recall.

Still, something had driven him to approach her. A longing for a kindred spirit, perhaps? Surely there was no other creature alive who could relate to him better. Sometimes he could remember having loved life and all the little things that went into it. The balance of it all.

She had been like him, hadn't she? They'd both dealt with that delicate balance.

Whatever his reason, he'd moved to stop her when he'd seen her briskly walking past in Acherus. A half formed apology for her death festered on the tip of his tongue, though he swallowed it and shrugged. "What do you go by now?"

"Leafless."

"Leafless, then," Shadow murmured, shrugging his giant shoulders as though the names were meaningless. The awkwardness returned tenfold. What was he supposed to say now? That it was good to see her? It really wasn't. She was just as much an abomination as he was.

Leafless crossed her arms and gave the tauren in front of her a frigid glare. "If you want a friend from life, you're wasting your breath."

Even as he tried to think of something to say, she shoved him. While her actions had little effect, he understood the sentiment and backed out of her way, letting her storm off into another part of Acherus.

As he watched her disappear around a corner, Shadow frowned, a low whistle interrupting his thoughts. He turned to glance over his shoulder and saw Bloodsworn standing behind him, arms crossed.

When the human death knight realized he'd caught Shadow's attention, he grinned and shrugged. "Women, right?"

Shadow didn't like the thought that he might be able to relate to the sadistic prick, but he merely shrugged as well. "It would be better if they just stayed dead."

Bloodsworn cackled, though he shook his head. "But they're so much fun to play with." He walked up and stopped in front of Shadow. "By the way, I wanted to thank you."

"For...?" Shadow wanted to edge away from him, but he held his ground.

"The other week, in the square. There really isn't much point in a living healer, is there? A non-cult one, anyway."

Shadow merely shrugged.

Bloodsworn paused as he watched two other knights stride by, laughing about how one of the towns they'd been to recently had attempted to bribe them to leave them be. He waited until they were out of earshot before grinning. "A living weapon is more interesting, anyway."

Shadow frowned. "You have a real hard on for the living, don't you?" When Bloodsworn laughed, Shadow tried to ignore the urge to cringe at the malice in the man's tones. "What, did you decide it'd be more fun for your pet to attack than to heal?"

"She cares so much for life, I thought it would be better if she took it herself."

Shadow stared at him. "You're having a living creature kill for you?"

Bloodsworn shook his head. "Not yet. She's got a pretty damned strong will. Even tried to kill herself a couple times now. I fixed that, though. I'm getting closer to breaking her, and when I do, it's going to be glorious." Despite his smile, his words sounded hollow.

"You don't sound so sure," Shadow murmured, even though he didn't really want to continue their conversation.

Bloodsworn sighed. "She's...I guess I hit her too hard. She can't remember anything. Taunting her with the names she used to adamantly swear would be coming for her doesn't even elicit a response. It's...frustrating. But I'm sure it'll come back to her. Then it'll be sweeter to bend her will to mine."

"Shadow!"

Tinker's high pitched voice cut through the air and Shadow snapped his attention toward the little gnome, her ghoul mount shambling up toward them. Shadow had never been so happy to see her coming his way as he was then. While she smiled and nodded to her tauren companion, she eyed Bloodsworn with open disdain.

The human gave her a condescending smile and lightly hit Shadow on the arm before walking off. "Thanks again for the inspiration."

~"~

Before Adrias and the others even encountered the undead, they noticed a dulling in the colors of Eversong. The eternal golden and reds of the foliage overhead gave way to dull browns then to grays then to skeletal empty branches all together. The grass tapered off as though the undead had somehow poisoned the very earth itself, leaving the twisted dirt to strangle the life that it had spent so many millennia nurturing.

While the four of them were no druids, and honestly had only ever heard of such people in the oldest of stories, they could tell that the land was suffering. Prynn stepped up to a tree, running her fingers over the coarse, brittle bark. She hissed a soft curse as a splinter broke off in her finger, and she jerked her hand away.

Wren seemed to be taking this the worst. Adrias supposed that, as a Farstrider, he was used to nature, used to how it should have been. Wren ignored his brother's offhanded question about whether the rune stones were still intact and leapt into the lower branches of one of the desolate trees. He pulled himself higher and higher until he felt the wood threaten to give out beneath his weight, not because the branch was too thin, but because it was rotten.

At least, Adrias assumed so, as he'd seen his brother scale higher into trees before. That, and a few rotten splinters fell back to the earth long before Wren came down. Adrias and the others watched the Farstrider take in their surroundings—nearly falling once as he leaned forward a little, trying to see something over the tree tops.

Even down below, as the wind hit them, it filled them with a chill. It lingered in Adrias' bones, even as his borther dropped back to the ground and rejoined the rest of them.

Adrias blinked when Wren swung up onto his hawkstrider and began a swift pace back the way they'd come. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You said we were sent to scout what's going on. To gauge the undead menace," Wren turned to face the others, his face a poor mask for the unease within him. "This...whatever _this_ is, is on a larger scale than I think anyone realized. We have to go back and report what's happening."

"But Amaeria—"

Wren's attention snapped toward Gryst'lyn, and he stared at the warrior for a long, still moment. Slowly, his gaze swept over Adrias and then Prynn. "You said this was a scouting mission."

Prynn took a tentative step forward as Gryst'lyn and Adrias attempted to salvage the lie. "Please...we need someone who can navigate these woods."

Wren clenched his fists around his reins as he turned his mount just enough to stare back at the others, and Adrias thought he could hear the Farstrider grinding his teeth. So then he hadn't realized they were lying, as Adrias had thought. Likely, that had been thanks to Prynn, considering how Wren knew damned well and Adrias and Gryst'lyn would lie to him without a second thought.

Thanks to their little Light lover, he'd gone against his better judgment.

As much as he looked like he wanted to beat every one of them for wasting his time, Wren managed to restrain himself. Adrias idly glanced toward Prynn and wondered if it was his chivalrous code or some nonsense, that he wouldn't succumb to violence around those who didn't really deserve it.

Wren took in a few slow, even breaths before he looked back at Prynn, ignoring the other two. "I will lead you back to Silvermoon, but I will not take you further."

For the last week, Adrias had been expecting that declaration. They were running low on food. Even if they knew Amaeria was a mere week away, they wouldn't be able to get her and then make it back on the provisions they had now.

Prynn glanced toward Gryst'lyn as he set his jaw, a dark look overtaking his features, and then back at Wren, walking up to him as though she feared he might lash out. "Please. Amae... she was everything to me. My family, my friend. I would do anything for her. Isn't there someone you love more than anything else in this world? That you would be willing to sacrifice everything for, just to know they were safe...and happy?"

Adrias felt a chill run down his spine as he watched his brother's face. While the Farstrider said nothing, they could easily read his expression.

 _No_.

Wren sat straighter as he looked down at the little priestess in front of him. "I'll take you back to Silvermoon. If your friend loved you half as much as you love her, she wouldn't have wanted you killing yourself on a fool's errand."

As he spoke, his words sounded hollow, as though he were reciting something someone had told him instead of speaking from experience. Adrias frowned as he realized that Wren probably didn't know much about love. Their family had never been thrilled to have someone who couldn't use even the simplest of spells to share their last name. To think that they had made the man who could now stare, unmoved, into the eyes of someone so desperately lost to heartbreak.

Even Adrias couldn't do that.

Prynn's ears quivered as she grabbed Wren's hand as though she intended to tug him after her, further into the dead woods. He stood his ground and watched her with a look of apathy as she began to plead with him.

While Adrias wanted to prod his brother, ask him if it was really that much further to the Farstrider outpost where Amaeria had disappeared, he knew that offering his own plea would all but kill any hope their expedition had. Perhaps that was what he needed to do. He could save Gryst'lyn with a plea, not to his hopeless friend, but to their guide. It would likely just take the inhale of breath to ask for help to turn Wren off to this expedition forever. One breath.

Instead, Adrias stood silent.

Gryst'lyn dropped his bags and rummaged through them before jerking his map out and striding over to Wren. He held the map and a pen out to him. "If you can just show me the path, I won't ask you to stay."

~"~

Thalach stared into a warped, cracked mirror as he reached up to feel his face. His tusks were crooked, one eye opened slightly wider than the other. A wicked head wound had taken off a good portion of his scalp, too.

But all of that barely registered to him. Instead, he couldn't tear his gaze away from his face. Half of it was barely hanging onto his skull, the skin slack no matter how he twisted his lips—snarl, smile, frown—and the signs of decay were rampant across his flesh making his once deep green skin look a sickly, almost blueish shade.

He could vaguely remember having been proud of his visage, though he couldn't understand or remember why it would have mattered. Appearances didn't matter to the Lich King.

Voices echoed in his head, too, other than his master's. He could hear pleas to turn back, not to be foolish, not to lead them to their deaths. He could remember proud soldiers, their shoulders hunched, their weapons too much of a burden as they begged. Home was far away, and this wasn't their fight.

He could remember them being cut down, could remember one rogue's expression as he'd been run through, the look he'd given Thalach.

The pain in his limbs was constant, but that memory, that look stirred a different kind of pain. Thalach couldn't explain it, but it was there, aching through him, telling him that whatever had happened had been his fault.

His master relished in deaths that were his fault. Those staved off the eternal aches in his bones, the pin needles in his blood veins, the fog that clouded his mind.

Even so, the memories of those warriors falling in battle didn't ease his agony, like most kills did.

It just left him hollow.

Turning away from the mirror, Thalach gripped his blade and moved out of the house he'd just finished clearing.

There were other memories that jumbled up his mind. Sometimes, they would burst to life so clearly that the swing of his blade would falter. He could see an orcess, shoulders squared back and proud, walking as though her growing belly didn't hurt her feet, holding the hands of two boys. They always looked so proud as they stared at him.

He was a great warrior.

He had been their great warrior.

Names tried to work their way into his mind as he thought of them, though his master's voice would echo into his head, almost desperate as he commanded Thalach to kill.

There was no room in a weapon for memories, for feelings.

And besides, pride had brought him here. Their pride, his own. He was a tool of the Scourge because he'd allowed pride to rule him. Those warriors had died under his charge because he'd been too stubborn and full of himself to do the right thing. To turn back.

He shuddered as a sense of horror began to overwhelm him. He was a monster. An abomination. If he had any sense of selfworth left in this rotting corpse, he would turn that damnable blade on himself.

_You are mine._

The words richoted through him, staying his hand even as he started to draw his blade up to his neck. His life was not his to take.

That painful fog swept through him, burying the images of that orcess, of those children, of those warriors. All that was left was a dim haze and the knowledge that he was needed elsewhere.

His master wanted them moving north, and that was where they would go.

Perhaps he could leave the past behind in the trail of corpses already in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

Adrias had to say that he knew his brother even less than he thought he had. When the other two had been so bent on continuing their search, if only to the Farstrider outpost, Wren had looked to Adrias for support in going back. Had he expected his brother to be a voice of reason for the two delusional fools?

When Adrias had sided with Gryst'lyn and Prynn, saying that it wouldn't make much of a difference to him to go another day or so, Wren had unexpectedly caved, though he'd been in a horrible mood since.

And he'd pushed them. They hadn't slept in over two days by the time the outpost was sighted—a direct route to the outpost would have taken a week, at most, but the roads were off limits, with corpses marching up them toward the north, and so they'd had to skirt around to the coast and then south.

Like the rest of the southern establishments, it had been abandoned in a hurry, and the smells of rotting food added to the unnatural silence of the place.

As Adrias realized that he couldn't hear any birds or other creatures—not that he was great at distinguishing them, but he could at least tell the generic, annoying chirp of a bird from the croak of a frog—his brother tapped his shoulder, and he jumped. When did Wren learn to move so quietly?

The Farstrider glanced around the area, uneasily. He'd picked up on the same wrongness of the area that Adrias had. By the nether, he probably felt it more so than Adrias could ever comprehend. "Would you gather the other two? I'd like to know if I'm going back to Silvermoon by myself or not."

On a normal day, Adrias would have scoffed at the thought of doing anything his brother wanted. This time, however, he merely walked away, looking for the others. He checked around the gate, thinking perhaps they had wandered out toward the woods to try to find the location where the report had said Miss Amaeria had disappeared. He paused when he thought he saw something move in the woods, near the ground.

He hesitated and narrowed his eyes as he tried to see into the spindly underbrush. Nothing was there. With an uneasy breath, he took a step back. As he turned to head back to the base, deciding that perhaps they were up on the second floor of the building, he froze as he came face to face with a translucent woman.

She was elven, or so he thought, and her tattered robes and long, dark hair billowed about her as though coerced by a non-existent breeze. Red, glowing eyes stared into his as he stumbled back. Her brow knit together for a moment before she opened her mouth and let out a heartbreaking wail.

~"~

"You know, when we were training to be priests, Amae was always quicker to pick up spells. I thought for sure she'd leave me behind in our training, and that our little trio would be broken apart forever," Prynn offered as she stared out into the sea of dead trees. She sat with Gryst'lyn, staring off toward the west, with their legs dangling over the sloping, curving walkway to the lookout post on top of the building. She shivered, the wind unusually cold. She'd said she was growing used to it since they'd entered into the tainted part of Eversong, but Gryst'lyn didn't think anyone could get used to this. "You wouldn't think that it would matter so much, but training takes place at different times, depending on how strong you are. She always held herself back for me. Me and Jaserisk, anyway. If she'd moved up, she wouldn't have seen much of either of us." Her voice wavered and she looked down at her hands, smiling faintly. "She likely would have never met you, either, seeing as she wouldn't have been running errands for me."

Gryst'lyn nodded slowly, staring off into space. His hands ached for Amaeria. To be able to touch her...to brush her hair from her face, to cup her chin and bring her lips to his. To pull her body to him and surround her with his arms. Had he really thought coming out here would bring her back to him?

He shuddered against the thought and frowned. He'd know if she was dead...wouldn't he?

The notion abruptly seemed so stupid. How would he know? Because they'd fallen in love? They'd been together a few months before this had happened. Already, he couldn't remember her smell. The feel of her skin was a vague memory, and it would be gone soon, too.

Too much time was passing.

It hurt.

Before her, he'd never believed in soul mates, and even though it had been a spell that had brought them together initially, he'd still felt an odd attachment to her that he'd never felt toward anyone—anything before in his life. Until her, he'd never really understood the way men would look at him when they learned that he'd bedded their fiancé or wife. Now, he could only imagine how it would hurt to know that another man had touched Amaeria...had been with her.

And the thought that someone might have hurt her, living or not, made him want to make them suffer.

He didn't want to think that Amaeria could be dead...or at a point beyond saving, but with everyone's wavering faith, he too was beginning to doubt. Her smile didn't seem as bright in his memories, and he desperately craved to see her, so that she could banish his darkness. After living without the light—as short a time as it was—it seemed cruel that the universe could show him what he'd been missing, just so that it could steal it back.

He wouldn't let her go without a fight.

Prynn was crying as she spoke, talking about how she and Amaeria had studied together, how they'd snuck into the restricted section of the library in the cathedral and found ancient tomes that still told of the light of a moon goddess, how they'd always promised they would be together forever.

She choked back a sob. "When she found you... I was so afraid you'd destroy her. That you'd be the dirt bag everyone said you were and that you'd break her heart and her hope…" She offered Gryst'lyn a little smile. "I was really happy when you weren't."

Gryst'lyn felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He looked over at Prynn to offer her whatever consolation he could, when he saw Wren a few feet away, bow drawn as he stormed up toward them. Even as Gryst'lyn tried to ask what in the Light the Farstrider was thinking, Wren notched and arrow and fired it.

It flew just over Gryst'lyn's shoulder, barely missing his ear. Prynn's face twisted into a look of terror, and she screamed and stumbled backwards to her feet. Gryst'lyn heard a strange gurgling screech and turned to see a spider-like beast shuddering, half on the walkway, half hanging off from where it had been climbing up, Wren's arrow through its forehead. As it focused its dozens of eyes at them, Gryst'lyn jerked to his feet and drew his blade. His heart nearly stopped when he heard more skittering noises from under the walkway they were on.

Wren looked over the two as he lightly took Prynn by her trembling shoulders and began to guide her back toward the first floor. "Where's Adrias?"

~"~

As Adrias finally managed to engulf the spectral woman in flames and shadows, the other three came tearing out of the building, heading toward the stables. Gryst'lyn called for him and he took off running to them, stumbling over the cobblestones and praying to whatever might be listening that the hellish banshee had been alone.

Wren reached the stables first, and he quickly grabbed Prynn's hawkstrider by the reigns and tried to drag it out into the courtyard. The bird struggled against him, however, and snapped its reins as it jerked its head away from him, desperately trying to stay in the safety of its stall. As Wren cursed and looked over to see that Gryst'lyn was having problems with his own mount, his gaze happened toward the courtyard, and he paled as Adrias ran in to join them.

The cobblestones were beginning to tremble and shake.

He dropped the reins to the hawkstrider as a few of the worn stones burst into the air and a mangled hand reached up from the earth. The action repeated dozens of times and soon just as many rotting creatures were dragging themselves up from the ground. The flooring of the stables was made of the same cobblestones as the courtyard and as he felt the ones beneath his feet begin to shudder, he leapt up onto the door of the nearest stall. He called out for the others to get off the ground as the first of the creatures outside shook off a layer of dirt and turned a glassy gaze toward the sound of his voice.

For a brief moment, it looked human enough. Like the shell of a man who had spent years in a field and had died from overwork. However, as it saw him, it unhinged its lower jaw and let out a hellish screech, spittle and coagulated blood dripping down over his broken teeth. The creature started to run toward them, its limbs moving with quick, jerky motions. How was it so damn fast?

Before it could reach them, another ghoul rose to its feet in their midst, cocking its head a bit too far to the side as it looked over Adrias. The warlock didn't wait for the creature to decide it wanted a snack before he set it ablaze with a quick curse.

The creature wailed and flung itself toward him anyway, even as it was burned away to nothing.

Gryst'lyn cried out as the one that had first seen them reached them and lunged into the building. He moved quickly, catching it across its chest with his blade and flinging the broken body back out into the square. Rather than a victory, however, it merely shuddered and began to rise back to its feet as its deflection drew the attention of more of the creatures.

As they fought off their attackers, Gryst'lyn shoved Wren back as the Farstrider severed the head of one of the creatures with a small blade. The ghouls were thinning out, but none of them wanted to wait to see what sort of reinforcements might be coming.

"Can you get the hawkstriders ready? Maybe we can make a break for it—"

His voice cut off as one of the creatures' hands shot up through the cobblestones and caught his leg. He cursed and stabbed his sword down through the dirt beside the arm, though it only seemed to anger his attacker, which burst up from the ground with uncanny speed, flinging him back to the ground and tackling him as it snapped at his face.

As the creature attacking Gryst'lyn burst into flames, Wren darted back toward their mounts in time to see one of them let out a sharp cry as something gripped its legs and dragged it underground. The creature's wails as it was suffocated by earth and torn apart by whatever lay beneath made the Farstrider pale, though he quickly turned to the other mounts tried to calm them enough to lead out.

As he managed to get one out into the hall, another of the spider creatures that had attacked them earlier burst up from where the first hawkstrider had been dragged down and lunged at him. He barely managed to dart away from the mount before the spider tore into it. It screeched and looked at its master pleadingly as the spider bit down on its throat.

Too close to draw his bow, Wren took his blade and jumped onto the monster, cutting its neck as it flailed and flung him into a wall. Wood splintered into his side, and he let out a small gasp as he staggered to his feet.

The remaining ghouls surged toward the stables, smelling the fresh blood.

~"~

They weren't sure how they'd managed, but their attackers were all burned away or cut to pieces at their feet, leaving them panting and barely standing, yet victorious. Adrias staggered up to his hawkstrider as Gryst'lyn led Prynn's into the open and leaned into the terrified bird's feathers, feeling a fleeting sense of accomplishment. He closed his eyes and breathed the smell of his bird into his nostrils, happy to have something other than decay overwhelming his senses. With a sigh, he pulled back and shook his head slowly.

"I have to say, if Miss Amaeria is nearly as good a healer as Miss Prynn, I'm starting to see how she could still be alive."

Prynn beamed, despite looking as though she wanted to collapse and nodded with mitigated enthusiasm. "Amae's better. She—"

The priest's voice cut off as a blade slammed into the side of her neck. Her expression blanked, and the glow in her eyes flickered out as the owner of the blade slung her to the side. Her body hit the ground with a dull thud. Adrias and the others looked past where she had been standing at the skeletal warrior who stood in her place, its sword still dripping with her blood.

The creature seemed to take a moment to relish the looks of horror on their faces as more of the skeletal creatures began to march out of the woods and toward the outpost.

Gryst'lyn sliced the monster's head off, and its bones crumpled to the ground. He darted over to Prynn and felt for a pulse before choking back a cry and looking back at Adrias. "A soul stone..."

The pale warlock nodded slowly and began to cast. Before he could get halfway through the spell, an arrow slammed into his shoulder and sent him spiraling to the ground. Cursing under his breath, Gryst'lyn sprinted away from Prynn's corpse and grabbed Adrias. The warlock was unconscious, but the arrow hadn't pierced anything vital.

Wren had already mounted his steed, and Gryst'lyn helped him pull Adrias up onto his mount and then turned to his. "Go, go!" Wren didn't need the prodding, as the skeletal warriors and archers started to run toward them.

As Gryst'lyn reached his own mount and grabbed its reins, the ground burst beneath it. Both he and the hawkstrider were flung through the air. The spider that had come up landed squarely on his mount, and the creature let out a gurgled wail. Gryst'lyn speared the spider with his sword and kicked its corpse away from his faithful bird. Looking over the pitiful hawkstrider, he could see that it had been gutted, and he brought his sword down upon its head to silence its pained cries.

Gryst'lyn looked after Wren to see that the Farstrider had stopped on the far side of the outpost and seemed ready to come back for him. He considered running after him, hoping to the Light that they could somehow make it out of there together, but stopped before he could take a full step. He smiled more to himself than Wren and turned his back to his fellow elf, to face the coming tide of monsters.

It was better some of them live than none at all.

And if this hell was any indication, he'd be back with Amaeria soon enough.

~"~

Half of Thalach's face hung loosely from his skull as he stepped over the cobblestones, staring at the ridiculous number of charred skeletons that littered the area. The courtyard looked like an inferno had opened up within it, as though the elemental of fire himself had unleashed his fury within the area.

The elves were going to put up a good fight, after all.

When he'd seen the foolish little party head into the outpost, he hadn't expected them to be worth more than a few ghouls. Then, when their healer had proven capable, he'd thought they would fall easily after she was gone.

And yet…

He hadn't expected a warlock to be in their midst.

The elven warrior who had stayed behind had fought valiantly, but he wouldn't have been able to take on the wave of ghouls surging at him by himself. Even as he'd taken a hit to his arm, making him unable to wield his two-hander well, flames had erupted all around him.

Yet somehow, they hadn't—so far as Thalach could see—so much as singed a hair on his body.

The two retreating… he should have been watching them.

The injured one had used a soulstone on the warrior, and had unleashed an infernal and a voidwalker, all while making the sky rain fire.

Thalach almost felt like he was back in Draenor as he'd watched the scene play out.

While his undead minions had torn apart the demons, the elves had made their escape.

Thalach wasn't overly worried about it. After all, even if they could fend off the undead for now, this wasn't even a fraction of what was already marching through their lands. They were just retreating to their deaths.

He paused as his foot hit against a body that still had most of its flesh. Despite all those flames, one other thing had been untouched through that chaos.

Their healer.

Leaning down, Thalach hoisted the thin body up and over his shoulder, turning to head back. Perhaps she'd make a useful ghoul. Before he could make it out of the courtyard, however, he stopped himself. His master's whispers were quiet, allowing something else to whisper to him, a soft reminder that if he'd had a choice, he wouldn't have been dragged into this life.

Dropping the elf's corpse back onto the cobblestones, he picked up his pace as he left. The Scourge was already big enough. No need to add to it unnecessarily.


	11. Chapter 11

In the weeks that followed his talk with Bloodsworn, Shadow found that two voices now plagued his mind. While one he knew well to be the will of his master, personified by words and aggressions, the other was...something.

He felt like he should have known what it was, though the word stayed ever elusive at the edge of his consciousness. The Lich King gave him moments of silence, times when he could almost forget the blood on his hands. The other voice was relentless.

It whispered to him of a pretty tauren woman who he couldn't quite remember. It told him of how she would cry to see him now. How she would weep to know the lives he had taken.

He tried to tell the voice that he was swift, that he'd never made anyone suffer. Then the voice would summon memories of Bloodsworn's grin and his thanks. It would hiss in his ears during his precious silence, damning him for whatever fate his fellow knight's pet must be suffering. It would conjure the vague tauren from his memories and speak through her, making her beg him not to torture life.

The voice would whisper about nature and balances and sometimes, Shadow almost thought that he understood what it was talking about. But the meanings would slip through his fingers, and he'd be left feeling so lost.

He'd tried to lash out at the voice. To silence it by following his master's will more closely. It had only made the one worse. When he'd attempted to torture a meek looking human man, the voice had screamed at him that he was forgetting who he was.

He hadn't been able to make the man suffer.

Shadow felt like he was going to go mad. He wished he would. If he could just lose himself, then perhaps the voice's words wouldn't reach him anymore. He'd taken to pacing the corridors of Acherus more and more frequently. He almost never rested.

Tinker had given up keeping his company, as her ghoul could hardly keep up with him. The other tauren death knight, Leafless, avoided him. The others were too busy following the will of their master to see Shadow's torment...and even if they had, he doubted they would have helped.

His latest walk had led him near the Highlord's chambers, and he could hear him talking to another knight.

"We'll be moving forward to crush Silvermoon in the next few days. We have them running north, but we don't want to give them a chance to cut around our forces and head south for help. While it's doubtful they could get reinforcements in time, some are worried that allowing that much uncertainty into our plans could prove too grave an error."

"Noted," the Highlord murmured. "So we need to block off any attempt to move down the western coast."

"Yes, my lord."

"Bloodsworn's workshops are near the coast, just inside the elven territories. Send word to him to stay vigilant until we can send support his way."

"Yes, my lord."

Shadow hadn't realized he'd stopped next to the door until a rather scrawny looking night elf death knight exited into the hall and jumped as she saw him. As Shadow mulled over how odd it was to have such a skittish creature be a harbinger of death, the elf looked him over and frowned. "You're in my way."

He stared down at the creature for another moment before that damnable voice in the back of his mind spoke for him. "On the contrary. I'm here to deliver your message to Bloodsworn."

~"~

The voice had been quiet since Shadow had headed off toward Bloodsworn's workshop. Mostly, anyway. Every so often, it would seem to be spooked by something, and it would whisper away plans to kill whatever poor wretch Bloodsworn was playing with, should he find that the creature was being tortured.

When Shadow arrived at Bloodsworn's workshop, he found that was surrounded by a burned out town, with only one building left standing. Ghouls were almost nonexistent and at first he wondered if perhaps the elves had already torn their way through the area. However, as he approached the building, with little other options as far as searching went, he began to hear quiet sobs.

He stopped in the small doorway and felt himself flinch as half a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him, terrified. The door and windows of the building were gone, and he could see where one or two of Bloodsworn's prisoners had dragged themselves over to try to peer out into the world beyond their private hell. Most of them suffered broken legs or severed and cauterized limbs.

It donned on him that this was why the door was gone. A mockery for them.

_Look, look...if you can just get up, get on your feet, and you can walk right out of here._

One woman clutched a younger child to her and tried not to sob as Shadow stepped into the building. He didn't even hear the voice in his head, acting in time with it as he swiftly put the tormented souls out of their misery.

When the last of them had grown still, he tried to steady himself, looking around, half expecting Bloodsworn to be there, standing just off to the side and watching him with a critical eye.

Shadow, however, was all that was left standing in the room. For a moment, he didn't know what to do, until he turned and saw the stairs leading up to the second floor. He took each one as though it would splinter and send him into some personal hell under the slightest touch.

Each plank creaked, but held his weight.

Bloodsowrn was on the upper floor, leaning against a table in the middle of the only room with boarded up windows—the room directly across from the stairs. Despite the darkness, a few sickly looking lanterns had been placed throughout it to provide the death knight enough light to work.

A small, skeletal corpse was sprawled across the table, a broken leg hanging lifelessly over the edge. It, a woman, though her age was impossible to tell beneath the cuts and bruises running across her body, had once had long hair, though it had been hacked off at different lengths and fell in hideous, choppy waves around her emaciated head and shoulders. Old scars from bindings covered her wrists and ankles and her clothes were mere tatters, their original colors indistinguishable beneath the grime and dried blood.

The body was covered in death runes...one of the most complicated curses Shadow had ever seen. It had to have taken months to have carved them all into the little woman, and he had to wonder how she had survived through as many as she had.

He felt better when he saw the little elf, though. She was dead. Whatever tortures she had suffered, they were over now.

Just as he had glanced over her dull eyes, a few runes on her body lit up, her eyes abruptly flickered to a dimly glowing blue, and the body took in a ragged gasp. Even alive, she didn't look like much more than a corpse. She barely tried to breathe, each breath seemingly unbearably painful.

Bloodsworn gripped the table and spat on her. "You think if you give up I'll let you die?" Even as he hissed the words, he reached for a small dagger resting on the table beside him.

Before Shadow knew what had happened, his mace was arcing through the air. Bloodsworn turned just in time for the spiked end to slam into his face and send him flying into the wall.

For the first time since his death, Shadow was himself. He stood in stunned silence as he was overwhelmed with the memories of the lives he had taken and the atrocities he had committed. He could remember Whisper and the little calf he'd promised to raise. He could remember his mission and how he'd known Gracie. He could remember all the ways he'd failed all the ones he'd loved.

However, his conscience wouldn't allow him to lose himself in regret. It tugged at his mind, reminding him of the little creature on the table.

She looked like she was in such pain that it seemed the most merciful course of action would be to snuff out her life. Surely she didn't deserve such a hellish existence. However, he paused to inspect the runes which had flickered just before her revival and had to fight back his horror for her.

Bloodsworn had used runes that were usually put on minions to keep their souls attached or to make them rise up after death. He'd made sure the little elf would never know peace.

Shadow reached toward her, but stopped when she didn't even seem to register that he was there. She hadn't seemed aware that her attacker was gone, nor that she was safe now. Her expression was blank.

She had given up.

Shadow unhooked his cloak and wrapped it around her before lumbering out of the building, thinking only that he needed to get the object of Bloodsworn's bile as far away as possible.

He had destroyed so many lives...but perhaps he could save this one.

_Come back._

"No," he whispered, tripping over broken trees and through brambles of skeletal underbrush.

_You are mine._

"No."

_My weapon._

"No."

_My tool._

Shadow couldn't find his voice to argue.

_My puppet._

He fell forward, barely managing to shift his weight so that he didn't crush the little elf. When she hit the ground, she just laid there, without attempting to move or to try to gather her strength to flee. Her breathing continued with as little effort as possible. Such shallow, hopeless gasps.

Shadow reached toward her, but stopped himself. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to fight his master's will. If he stayed with her, he would end up taking her back to Bloodsworn, assuming the damnable man had survived his attack. Even if Bloodsworn was dead, so long as she was the property of the Scourge, her life would be an unending nightmare.

With a whispered apology that he wasn't sure ever really made it past his lips, Shadow turned away from her and stumbled off into the woods, hoping to disorient himself enough that he wouldn't be able to lead himself or any other knight back to her.

_You waste your strength._

Shadow tried not to listen to his master and suddenly longed for his other voice, his conscience, to vie for his attention again. However, it seemed content to have done what was done.

_You think she will escape?_

Frail as she was, she would be dead soon on her own anyway...from starvation, if nothing else. And if that curse brought her back again...

He felt the memories of Whisper and everything else beginning to fade and choked back a sob, trying to fight off the control for a little while longer.

Maybe a miracle would happen.


	12. Chapter 12

Haa'aji was contemplating suicide again. He wasn't sure, but he figured he had to have been on his own for at least six months. It had been almost three since he'd seen another living creature. A few weeks ago, he'd tried once again to go back to the Amani, thinking that in the worst case scenario, he would just steal some food from them.

However, the small village that he'd gone to, just on the border of his people's territory, had been decimated by the Scourge. While he'd been tempted to travel further into their land, to make sure that most of the empire still stood, it had occurred to him that it didn't matter. It wasn't his empire any longer and with all he'd seen the undead armies do, he didn't doubt that going home would merely extend his life a few weeks at best.

So he'd turned back to the west, thinking to find an end to the undead's influence. Surely, they couldn't control all of the known world. He would find other survivors. More importantly, he would find other fighters. People working against the Scourge. If he could get a damned group behind him, he knew he could make the damnable monsters pay for what they'd done to his people. Done to him. After all, if not for them, the elves never would have fled and he'd still be home.

He'd been weaving his way through the withered trees, avoiding plagued bats and lynxes, when in his fatigue he didn't noticed the fallen log and he tripped, sprawling headlong into the ground. As he cursed and looked back, thinking to kick the damned thing for tripping him, his eyes widened.

It was no log, but rather a small body. A breathing, elven body. She didn't seem to see him though, staring straight ahead as she lay on her side, wrapped loosely in a thin blanket of some sort. Her eyes barely lit up the air in front of her and her breaths were shallow and pained. He immediately drew away from her, fearing she had the plague. However, reason stopped him.

This area had succumbed to the plague already. Anything this far into the dead land that had contracted the disease had perished months ago. The woman looked almost skeletal and he had to wonder how she'd gotten so far into nowhere on her own.

Creeping back toward her, he poked her shoulder. "Hey, mon. Ya okay?"

Of course she wasn't okay, but he could hardly think of anything else to say. It didn't even occur to him that she probably didn't speak trollish. He sat there for a long moment, before giving up on an answer. A shuffling noise in the distance caught his attention and he hunched to the ground, listening. Something was headed their way.

He started to move away, but stopped. It had been so many long months since he'd had anyone to talk to and…even if she was a despondent husk of a living creature, she was better than nothing. He slipped his arms under her and picked her up, retreating into the shadows of the woods.

It was three hours before he made it to the coast. He was relieved to see that there seemed to be a clear lack of undead along the beach. He could relax for at least a few minutes...and his arms were killing him from having carried the little elven woman. While she was feather-light, he was still weakened from having spent so long on such a sparse diet.

He paused to seat the woman against a small cliff face near the sand and then sprinted into the waves, letting the water wash over his grimy skin. He scrubbed himself for a moment before tiring and turning back to look and make sure his new traveling companion was alright. She still sat where he'd left her, hunched forward as though life might leave her at any moment and let her body crumple to the ground.

Haa'aji sloshed back to the shore, though he tried to make as little noise as possible. The last thing he needed was to draw the attention of any nearby ghouls with carelessness. He shuffled back up the sand and squatted down in front of her, reaching out and lightly putting his fingers beneath her chin and lifting her head to see that she was still breathing softly.

He lowered her chin carefully and then looked around. Just as he was considering plopping down beside her, he caught sight of a scraggly, but surprisingly healthy looking plant sprouting up through a crevice in the cliff. Hopping to his feet with energy he'd thought long spent, he trotted over and jerked a few leaves off of it.

When he was a child, his brother had pointed out the plant to him, saying that its leaves were edible, though they didn't have much taste. As he bit into one, he couldn't believe how bland it was. No taste was far too generous a description. Rather, it seemed more like the plant sucked the memories of what real food tasted like right out of its devourer's mind. For an instant he wondered if he was thinking of the wrong plant, but then shrugged it off. The worst that could happen was that it'd kill him.

He held out a few of the leaves to his elven companion and then set them down on her legs when she didn't move to take them. Haa'aji didn't bother with a fire. He doubted it would be able to vanquish the perpetual chill that permeated the air and would most likely just draw ghouls to their location. Honestly, everything seemed to draw ghouls.

Sitting next to the frail woman, he patted her head gently, though he stopped when he had to catch her, as the action sent her tumbling over. He held her upright with an arm around her shoulders and looked out over the waves.

"Ah be Haa'aji, mon. Don' suppose ya got a name?"

She didn't reply.

"Ya be a liila ting, ya know? How de hell ya be alive out hea?"

Nothing.

"Suppose de same way Ah be alive out hea, huh?" He shrugged. "Ya don' like ta talk. Ah suppose Ah can respec' dat."

He patted her shoulder and took a bite out of one of his leaves. "Dese be some crazeh times, yeh? De dead wand'rin' 'round like dey tink dey livin' a sumtin. Ah suppose mos' a dem not be too bad. Da ones dat still tink, dey be the scareh ones, yeh?" He paused and eyed her. She still hadn't moved aside from her shallow, faint breaths. "Ah like ya. Ya got a hea'tbeat..." He hesitated again, checking her neck for a pulse. When he found it, he patted her shoulder. "A nice hea'tbeat. Liila faint, but dat be okay. Ya don need no drummin' ta let dem dead folk know we hea."

It felt good to talk, even if it was a monologue. For all he knew, his whole tribe had been wiped out, so he felt pretty fortunate to have stumbled across another living creature. He scratched his stomach, wishing a mere touch could alleviate the hunger pangs in his gut. As he took another bite of leaf, he glanced at her again. Pausing, he set his own food down and held up one of the leaves to her. "Can ya eat? Ya not gon' ta las' long, wit' out food."

She didn't respond.

~"~

They stayed near the coast for almost three days, until Haa'aji couldn't find any more food. He often regretted not learning how to fish, as he could see the little bastards flopping in the waters just off the shore. He tried to catch a few, but it just resulted in lots of splashing and noise.

As hungry as he was, he made sure not to take any of the food he'd left for the little elf woman. Not that she'd touched any of it.

On the third night, he frowned and squatted down in front of her, lightly cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her dim gaze to meet his. "Look hea, wooman. Ah don mind sharin' wit' ya, but ya got ta at least meet meh half way. Eat ya damn food. Don' be lettin' it waste. Dere be hungreh people hea."

"Stop it."

He froze. If he hadn't just seen her chapped lips move, he wouldn't have believed she'd spoken. And in trollish too, though it was with a strange elven accent. Even as he floundered for what to do, tears pricked her eyes.

"I won't...believe that this is real." Her voice scratched against her throat like an animal struggling to stay in its cage. "So just...stop it. Let me wake up." With that, she burst into hysterical sobs.

Haa'aji watched her, his jaw slacked as she crumpled against him, her whole body shaking violently from her crying. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him and he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, without doing any damage to her frail frame.

As he rocked her back and forth slowly, he rested his chin on her head. "It be okay, mon. Ah don' know wat ya be talkin' 'bout, but dis be real, mon. Ah know it be scareh, but it be okay, yeh? If ya 'n meh both be alive, dere gotta be more, yeh? We find 'em 'n e'rehtin' be okay."

Despite his words, she simply cried harder and he found himself stroking her hair as he scanned the trees, worried that her tears might draw death to them. "Tings gon ta get betta, yeh? Ah promise."

~"~

Light didn't seem to matter to the ghouls, so Haa'aji had merely waited until he felt too restless before he'd carefully lifted his new found companion and headed down the coast in search of an end to the undead menace.

They'd gone for almost a day and a half—having to backtrack for a few hours after finding that the beach ended, leaving only jagged cliffs. He doubted either of them would have had the strength to swim very far and so he'd instead gone back far enough to travel along the top of the cliffs.

When he'd found a small cave, almost completely blocked off from the world by heavy shrubbery, he'd decided it would be as good a place as any to rest for the night and he'd helped his little elf slip into it before heading off to look for something to eat. He was rather displeased to learn that they weren't far from a decimated human town. So even the humans were falling to the undead? He'd been more concerned to see that the thinking undead seemed to have taken a liking to the town and eerie, unnatural fires burned blue and black inside the houses' windows as crumbling corpses shambled along the streets.

As he'd watched one of the living spell casters hurry along, he'd frowned when it occurred to him that he was still naked. It hadn't really mattered to him while he was alone. After all, who was there to see? But now that he had the little elven woman with him...

He'd cased the outskirts of the little town and grinned when he saw a hideous banner flapping in the breeze. Really? The undead had their own banners? He watched a hellish looking creature lumber by and nearly forgot his goal as he wondered who in their right mind would stitch different creatures together like that.

However, as the creature disappeared down a street, he regained his wits, darted out to the pole the banner was on, and with a quick motion ripped the cloth away from its place. He tore back into the woods and ran haphazardly through the trees for almost fifteen minutes before he bothered to slow and see if he was being followed. When he was content that he wasn't, he made himself a quick loin cloth and then headed back to where he'd left his companion.

Haa'aji had been terrified when he came back and at first he thought she wasn't breathing.

However, as he'd touched her shoulder, she'd shuddered and her eyes had fluttered open, fear dancing in them until she finally seemed to recognize him and merely slumped back against the rock.

Haa'aji offered her a few dried and partially rotten looking carrots. As he crunched into one, trying to hide his own disdain for what he'd found, he eyed the little elf. "Ya know, ya neva did give meh a name."

She didn't respond at first, instead lightly biting off the tip of the carrot and chewing slowly, as though she had trouble. Finally, she swallowed and shrugged. "I don't remember."

"Damn, mon," Haa'aji cursed himself as he realized he'd already wolfed down his food. It hadn't even eased his hunger pangs in the slightest. "Do ya know how ya got ta be way out in nowhea?"

She shook her head, pausing to frown as some of her hair caught between her shoulder and the rock behind her. Haa'aji inspected her and then flipped his knife out, pausing as she jerked away from him. "Ah nah gon ta hurt ya, yeh?"

He held his hand out to the skittish little elf. When she didn't offer any type of faith in him, he frowned and moved toward her again, taking the longer locks of hair that fell messily around her shoulders and cutting them so that they were closer to the length of the rest of her hair. "Jus' didn' tink ya needed ta get caught in stuff..."

She looked down at the carrot in her hands, ashamed. However, before she could voice an apology, her ears picked something up and her eyes widened, her dim blue gaze turning to the entrance of their little hideaway just in time to see a hook swing into the opening and slam into Haa'aji.

He let out a quick gasp as the hook managed to catch his side. A moment's pause settled over the two as horror overtook them and then the chain the hook was on jerked back and Haa'aji found himself ripped out of their sanctuary.

The hook hadn't been in him far enough and it tore through his flesh when he was about halfway to the abomination it belonged to. He clutched at his gaping wound and then felt at his side for his dagger. Of course it was still in the cave. He almost glanced back for it, but stopped himself. Perhaps the monster didn't realize that his companion was in there. There was no reason to alert the creature to her presence if that was the case.

Empty handed as he was, Haa'aji wasn't about to wait for the creature to attack again. He stumbled to his feet and charged after the receding hook. The creature had three arms and one of them swung a cleaver at him, though he merely dodged to the side and grabbed onto the arm, letting it lift him into the air as the creature tried to raise its arm for another swing.

Even as he came to rest on the thing's back and with a quick twist shattered the bones in the wiry little appendage holding its sickle, it attempted to grab at him with its other arm. In doing so, it dropped the chains it had been holding and tripped upon them as it staggered, attempting desperately to remove the troll from its back.

Haa'aji wrenched the sickle free from the creature's broken limb and then brought it around its neck, pulling up toward him and decapitating the mass of flesh.

It gurgled once as it sloshed forward, organs and rot pooling out around it. Haa'aji staggered a few steps away from it and grinned to himself as he flipped the sickle in the air. He was damned good with a blade.

However, even as he looked toward the cave and saw that his companion had come out of hiding, he heard a shrill screech and looked up in time to see several stone-like creatures, mixes between bats and men, descending toward him. He cursed and ran back toward the little elf, motioning for her to go back into the cave. If he could get back into hiding, the creatures would have to try to come at them one at a time and perhaps he could methodically kill them.

As he ran toward his companion, again motioning for her to hide, he felt claws dig into his shoulders and he cursed as he abruptly found himself in the air. Another set of claws grabbed at one of his legs and started to pull away from him.

Just as he felt his hip beginning to dislocate, shadows flickered through the air and slammed into the one that was holding his shoulders. The creature screamed as it plummeted to the ground, one of its wings completely severed. The one holding his leg was unable to support its weight, the weight of its prey, and that of the injured monster still clinging to Haa'aji's shoulders and the three of them dropped back to the earth.

Another tried to grab hold of him just before they hit the ground, but the shadows from earlier seethed around it and speared through its neck, sending its head spiraling off through the air as its body thudded to the ground. He cast a quick, worried glance toward his little elf, only to pause as he realized she was the one controlling the shadows. With a grin, he turned his attention back toward their enemies.

Haa'aji used his sickle to make quick work of the one still clawing at his leg and then reassessed their situation. There was only one of the flying demons left, but it had already started to retreat.

His urge to cheer triumphantly caught in his throat as he realized that it was probably going back to that town. Haa'aji baulked at the thought of the rest of those creatures coming for them.

However, before he could recover from the horrors that would be stalking them soon, he felt hands pressing into the gash on his side and winced. He looked down to see that his little elven companion was beside him, her dim gaze on her fingers. For a moment, he almost forgot to breathe as he wondered what she was doing.

Then, abruptly, light flickered across her finger tips and illuminated the dull air around them. He blinked as he felt his skin stitching itself back together and smiled as the warmth of the little elf's light washed over him, mending his leg and shoulders as well.

Before he could thank her, black runes flickered across her skin and she winced. The light vanished from her and he was left feeling incredibly cold. Haa'aji caught her as she nearly fell on top of the sickle he was still holding. He held her by her shoulders as she gasped as though she'd been the one to be stabbed in the side.

Unsure if elven healing magic worked in strange ways, he checked to make sure she hadn't somehow taken his injuries onto herself before hugging her to him and picking her up. He headed back to their cave only to get his dagger and what was left of their carrots.

"Ya be okay, mon?"

She nodded against his shoulder, and he rested his chin against her head for a moment. "Ah'd let ya get sum rest, yeh? But—"

"The gargoyles will get their masters."

Haa'aji nodded slowly. "Dem crittas be ga'goyles, eh? Well, yeh. Dey be back wit' all sorts a stuff, so..."

"We have to move."

He hurried along the cliffs until he saw a good opening in the woods nearby and ducked into it, hoping to make it harder for any aerial scouts to see them.

~"~

Leafless stared up at Shadow, where they'd hung him up on a few meat hooks. Chains had been wrapped tightly around his naked form, and he'd been put on display as a warning to anyone else who thought they could rise above the Lich King.

Honestly, she was amazed. Rumor was that he'd broken free from their master and destroyed all of Bloodsworn's pets and toys. He'd nearly killed Bloodsworn and even when their master had reclaimed him, he'd managed to break free a second time.

Half a dozen dead death knights were proof of that.

It had seemed to take all of Acherus, to bring him down. However, it had been decided that death would be too swift a punishment, and he had been strung up. Bloodsworn had been furious. He still bore the hellish gash across his face from Shadow's first escape, and he'd been quick to take a burning poker to the massive tauren, though he'd been even more infuriated when Shadow had merely laughed at him and called him a weak puppet.

While most death knights had merely lost interest in the hulking creature, content to let him suffer for the rest of eternity as their master had willed it, Leafless kept coming back.

She couldn't quite remember him, but a small part of her dead heart broke every time she thought of him hanging here. She'd tried to think of ways to lessen his pain, anything that might make her regard him with less despair.

When she found no way to free him from his chains without alerting any other passerby that she'd done so, she resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do.

Just as she was about to leave, a thought struck her, and she turned back to him, her tail swishing behind her as she plodded up to stand in front of him.

"There's a chapel," she said softly, pausing as the knight opened his eyes to look down at her with mild disdain. "It's small, but...so far the people there have repelled our advances." He didn't say anything. "No doubt we'll be heading over to finish them off soon, but...I thought you'd like to know. You're not the only light in the darkness."

"I'm... no... light," Shadow whispered, half laughing at the idea.

Leafless shook her head as she turned away from him and began to walk off. "You really have no clue, do you? Because of you, people have started wondering if they can break free. Our master's whispers... they grow more desperate each day."

~"~

Haa'aji glanced around at the sky one more time before heaving himself up another branch and then offering his hand down to his little elven companion. As the two of them sat perched high atop one of the scraggly pine trees that had begun to overtake the plagued land, he allowed himself a half smile. The bark, while still tainted, had a resilience that they'd yet to see in the natural world, and it somewhat lifted his spirit.

As they looked out over the tree tops, ever vigilant for any signs of gargoyles or other flying monsters, Haa'aji took in a deep breath and lightly nudged his elf. "De breeze feel almos' fresh, yeh?"

Pungent as the smell of decay in the air remained, his elven friend nodded, though he suspected it was more so for his satisfaction than her own. She hadn't spoken of whatever had happened to her, but whenever she did manage to fall asleep, she always woke up screaming or sobbing, with a disorientation that sometimes took hours to wear off.

She'd been tortured, and every time her eyes closed, she was back there. When she woke up like that, if he was too close, her body would go limp as though she were dead, as if she had no will to fight off whatever it was that came for her in her nightmares. Then, he'd talk to her for a little while, and slowly—so very slowly—she'd come to life.

Sometimes, she whispered that she liked this dream, that she liked playing in a world where she was allowed to move on her own.

He wished he could show her that it was her nightmares that weren't real, not their escape, but she was so fragile. He wondered if she could face this reality, especially if something were to happen to them. If they were to get caught and lose their fight for freedom.

After all, all it would take would be a single misstep and their futile adventure would be over.

Haa'aji lightly hit her shoulder and pointed toward the west. Smoke wound lazily up into the sky a few miles off. He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better view. "Ya tink it be moa a dem undead?"

"I don't know," she glanced over her shoulder toward the plagued lands. "But I think...perhaps their hold is weaker here."

It was as good an answer as any, and Haa'aji nodded once before offering her his hand as he started back down the tree.

"Well den, c'mon liila ting," Haa'aji said gently and the two of them quietly slipped back to the ground.


	13. Chapter 13

Shouts echoed through Acherus, metal clashing against metal. As Thalach ran to help assist a tauren knight that he'd been working with for a while, he paused in the hall, looking up to where another tauren death knight hung.

He struggled to remember his name for a moment before the word Shadow bubbled up into his memory. The undead steer hung where he was, eyes closed, though his ears twitched occasionally when the fighting sounded like it was closer.

This had been the first death knight to break free of Arthas' will.

This was the knight who had started it all.

How was it, then, that no one had thought to get him down yet?

Thalach's blade cracking into one of the chains holding him up, breaking the cold metal apart and letting one of Shadow's arms fall loose. The tauren's eyes snapped open, surprise etched clearly onto his face. His gray fur was a bit matted, but aside from that, he'd born undeath with few injuries to show. There were a few gashes across his torso, but aside from that—and likely whatever injuries the meathooks would leave when he was pulled down—he almost looked like a living tauren.

Assuming Thalach's memories were even remotely accurate.

"What are you—" Shadow's voice wavered. He hadn't used his vocal cords in a while.

Thalach eyed the chains and broke another that kept the creature's massive head in place. The next hit brought down his other arm. "You're gonna sag down from those hooks one way or another. You have a preference for which side gets fucked?"

Though the tauren stared down at him for a moment, he abruptly laughed. "You've got to be… kidding."

"We're fighting back," Thalach replied, eyeing the remaining chains. The ends around Shadow still hung off him loosely, but he was almost down. "If I can get you down, do you think you can kick some ass?"

"You get me down and I'll kick any asses you want me to," Shadow replied, a smirk replacing his grimace as Thalach managed to get the middle chain, leaving only two meathooks, one in each shoulder.

Even as the orc tried to figure out how to reach them, Shadow reached up, gripping each chain just about his shoulder, and then hoisting himself up, as though he weren't the one strung up on them. Thalach could hear the sickening squik of the hooks sliding out of flesh, and then Shadow thudded to the ground in front of him, his hulking form hunching down and falling to one knee.

Even as Thalach moved to him, pulling loose one of the other hooks still in him and tossing it aside, Shadow jerked to his feet, swinging one of the other chains into an abomination and catching it by the arm with its hook. Shadow had the thing disarmed and dismembered in foreign heartbeat.

Thalach watched him, mouth hanging open as Shadow jerked more of the hooks from himself, tossing all but the last one aside. "How many death knights are rebelling?"

With a grin, Thalach motioned for Shadow to follow him. "Over half of Acherus." He hesitated to decapitate two skeletal casters as they turned the corner, hurrying to assist with the Scourge forces still in the necropolis. "I'm heading upstairs to meet with Leafless and Shawn."

"And Kisses?" Shadow asked, keeping up with him easily, despite his injuries.

"I'm sure she's around," Thalach laughed.

"And Bloodsworn?"

His voice had dropped at that name, and Thalach paused to glance at him. They both might have been death knights, but Shadow was on a level all his own. "Not sure."

A wide grin spread across Shadow's lips as he nodded. "If he shows up, he's mine."

Even as they took on another small group of Scourge—these ghouls were more disoriented, not sure who to go after. Thalach caught one of them under his control and turned it on the others, keeping it with them as they kept pressing forward. "You may be able to take on abominations and casters, but I don't know if you'll want to take on a fellow death knight without finding someone to mend you first."

Shadow seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding and then giving Thalach another grin. "Get me to the armory, and that won't be a problem."

With a nod, Thalach charged forward, gripping a banshee to him and then beheading another caster. He let out a howl as they fought their way forward.

They had all lost so much, taken so much, but here, now, they were themselves again, and they were going to reclaim every scrap of themselves that they could, starting with the necropolis.

~"~

Adrias stood in front of the Farstriders' headquarters in Silvermoon, exhausted yet determined. "Let me speak with him."

The Farstrider who had barred him entry simply crossed his arms, feet planted firmly where he stood. "No civilians are allowed beyond this point."

With a curse, Adrias held up a hand, flames dancing around his fingertips as he fought back the urge to just conjure a damned demon to sic on the bastard blocking his path. "If I can't go in, then go get him. I need to talk with him—"

"He doesn't want to speak with you," the elf snapped back, draining Adrias magic and leaving the warlock doubled over on the floor, gasping as he reoriented himself. "You've come by every day for the last two months. The city is under fucking siege. Surely an elf with your prowess could be useful elsewhere."

"And just what are you doing for your people?" Adrias managed, hissing the words as he glared up. The Farstrider narrowed his eyes. Already, their former blue was tinged to a turquoise. Another month or so and there wouldn't be any blue eyed elves left in Silvermoon.

Adrias' father—the grand warlock of Silvermoon—had taken advantage of the end of their world to approach the prince with ideas of how to be strong enough to take on the undead that didn't seem to end. It was a last ditch effort, but the quel'dorei were not about to go out quietly.

Adrias wondered how green Gryst'lyn's eyes were now.

If he could just see him… just talk to him…

How could he be mad about what had happened? How could he honestly think that dying would have been better?

Adrias couldn't have left him behind, couldn't have let the undead take his only friend.

Though, it seemed that in the end he'd lost Gryst'lyn either way.

Standing a bit straighter and mustering his wounded pride, he stared down his nose at the Farstrider. "If Gryst'lyn doesn't want to talk to me, he can tell me himself. I will be here to bother you every day until he does."

As he spoke, a small contingent of Farstriders returned to the headquarters from patrols of the outer parts of the city. Many of them were injured, many worn and looking ready to give up—everyone had lost someone at this point. Wren counted among them, though he made sure not to look toward Adrias as he slipped into the headquarters, disappearing into the shadows with a few others without a word. They'd be up and back on patrol well before they'd had a chance to rest properly.

One of them, however, paused beside Adrias, blonde eyebrows arched inquisitively. "What's going on here?"

"Captain Dawningblade," the Farstrider saluted him. "This is the elf who insists on speaking with Farstrider Emberdawn."

The captain turned toward him, tilting his head as he appraised Adrias with a cautious look in his eyes—they were already mostly fel green.

In Adrias experience, those who fell to the fel magic this quickly were tapping the newly made mana crystals in desperate attempts to forget the things they had seen.

Things they had done.

"Dawningblade," Adrias said the name slowly, inspecting him back. "You wouldn't happen to be Amaeria's friend, Jaserisk, would you?"

The elf winced at that, though he nodded. "I wasn't aware Amaeria was friends with warlocks."

"We weren't friends," Adrias replied, narrowing his eyes. He vaguely remembered Gryst'lyn insisting that Jaserisk's actions had been suspicious.

Yet here he was, rising in the ranks. Perhaps that was just because the worthy choices for higher ups had already fallen.

As he looked over the elf, a thought occurred to him. He couldn't bring Amaeria back, but perhaps he could bring to light what had really happened—whatever it was that had been kept out of the official reports, of course.

Surely that sort of endeavor would win him back Gryst'lyn's favor.

It was worth a try.

With a thin smile, Adrias shook his head. "I suppose you're right," he said, looking at the Farstrider who had first blocked his entry. The man seemed bewildered by the sudden turn of events. "I do have more important things to do." Glancing toward Jaserisk, he gave him a short nod. "Captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ending Lost Souls here because to continue would require introducing a slew of new characters, and not getting back to some older ones for a while. Haa'aji and Amaeria's adventures continue in Dark Heart. After Dark Heart, there's a span of a few years not covered, and then Impervious starts. I will be finishing Impervious before I go back and write anything else in that gap, if I write anything.
> 
> Thank you so much to those who read, and I hope you enjoyed the story.


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